Soul-Deep
by NightWolfMoon
Summary: Gunther has never felt at home in his skin, feeling like he had been born in the wrong body. For years he struggled with these feelings. After almost two years in the Old Country to be purged of his sinful thoughts, Gunther is back in Chicago, trying to figure out how he feels and what he wants. He wants to finally be happy with himself, but at what cost will that happiness be?
1. White Elephant

**Chapter 1: White Elephant**

"_The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning." - Ivy Baker Priest_

For Gunther's crimes, he had been sent back to the Old Country to work on his father's family's farm. He'd been sent there not even a week after getting back from Japan, and now that sufficient time has passed, maybe his punishment was over. He had done his penance for allowing Satan to whisper nonsense into his heart. His muscles were hard from labor, and callus was thick on his palms and fingers. He still felt the chill of his home country's harsh winter, and he knew that Chicago's January wind was no less merciful. Yet, it was his home, even more than the farm with people that shared his blood and language.

Pulling the yak-fur coat more tightly over his body, Gunther headed towards the carousel so as to claim his suitcase. His be-dazzled backpack was slung over one shoulder, the sparkling object and matching case the cause of much teasing towards him by his cousins on the farm. None of them had known the sins staining his soul that had caused his father to make such a rash decision, but it had been like they hadn't even needed to be told. Gunther's sin couldn't have been more obvious if he were wearing a blood-red letter on the front of his shirt.

His usual clothes were gone now, leaving him in a drab mess even worse than what Ty had dressed him some years ago. It disheartened him so, but he just pressed his lips together, not letting his mind go back to those sinful thoughts.

"Gunther!"

Tinka's cheery call made the seventeen-year-old boy whip around, backpack falling as a smile finally crossed his lips, brightening his face. The smile grew as he spotted a large pink-and-blue polka-dot bow bobbing through the crowd. Soon, the girl with thick, honey-colored hair (up in a beehive-shaped 'do) was in sight; her deep grey-green eyes were nearly as bright as Gunther's cobalt-blue ones.

"Tinka!" He lifted her up in a tight hug when they met, Kashlack and Squitza not far behind.

Gunther's smile became strained when he spotted them, his breathing becoming shallow as his father pushed his sunglasses up until they sat atop his head. His tight, pale curls fell just below his large shoulders now, and he wore a zebra-print blazer over a button-up azure shirt, the ensemble matching his wife's ankle-length dress, which was only partially visible through the opening made by her unbuttoned, lavender overcoat. Squitza wore a smile as strained as her son's, pastel-green eyes shimmering with mixed emotions. Gunther saw happiness there, but he also recognized apprehension, worry, and…

His heart fell as he recognized that emotion no child could stand to see from a parent: Disappointment.

His eyes moved to his father, seeing only a stern mask, one arm bent with his golden-yellow overcoat draped over it. Gunther gave a slow, hesitant nod, and Kashlack finally smiled, though it looked a little like a smirk of triumph. It made the boy angry, but it also made him the tiniest bit relieved. He wanted his father's approval in what he did and what choices he made, but he still felt some resentment. How could he have denounced what Gunther felt—how he'd felt for as long as he could remember—as merely the devil taking him away from Grace?

"It'll be okay," Tinka whispered in the dialect of the region their father was from, holding her twin's hand tightly. "You know I'm still your sister whatever you choose, right?"

The alarm for the carousel sounded, and Gunther gave a nod as he tried to get his breathing under control. _Whatever I choose?_ he thought. _You talk as if I'd actually go through with it. After all this!_

"My son!" Squitza exclaimed as she leaned down to give Gunther a tight embrace. Some of the long, tight curls descending from the bun she'd put her pale hair up in were draped over her narrow shoulders. She kissed Gunther's cheeks three times each, going from one cheek to the next with each kiss, as was custom of the nobles of their country.

Gunther hugged her back and gave her three pecks on the chin, again custom to show his lower status in comparison to hers. He wondered if he'd heard her put a little more emphasis on "son" or if he'd just imagined it.

"Anya, Apa, it's good to be back," he said. The four were speaking in their native language, as Kashlack and Squitza often did not like switching to English if they didn't have to. It actually hadn't been until Gunther and Tinka began attending public school that _they'd_ begun to learn it. "There are some things in my suitcase that Isidor Batchi insisted for you as gifts."

"So staying with my brother in Krajinazosvetlo has served you well, Son?" questioned Kashlack. It sounded innocent enough, but even a loaded gun could be innocent until the trigger was pulled.

"Yes, Apa," Gunther responded, trying to sound sincere.

The smile on Kashlack's face looked more genuine now, but there was still a glint in his turquoise eyes that said he was still watching. He was the gatekeeper, but he was also the guardian angel. Everything he did was to help his son. The soul came first. Everything else was inconsequential.

Tinka then spotted her brother's suitcase—honestly, the thing was hard to miss—and the four loaded into a taxi with it and headed home.

The apartment was as Gunther remembered, even down to Katka playing her wooden ocarina in her rocking chair, over in the corner.

Not much changed around here. In the middle of a country where the only tradition was change, Squitza and Kashlack took great pride in hanging on to the old ways of their home nation. Neither would ever admit to missing it, but if any change had been made to their lives besides location, it had been their fashion. It was like that of some of the first celebrities they'd seen pictures of, and celebrities seemed to be the closest this country had to royalty.

Putting her ocarina down onto her lap, which was covered in a light purple blanket that Tinka had likely knitted, a smile brightened Katka's heavily-lined face. Her crystal blue eyes sparkled, long white-and-silver curls tumbling down around her round face and over her shoulders instead of pinned back as usual.

"Ah, my Gunther," she whispered in that husky voice that portrayed her years even more than her face did. Not knowing any English but for a handful of words, she was another reason that that language was hardly spoken in the apartment. "How is home?"

Much of his apprehension melting away, Gunther's smile became easier as he replied, "Beautiful, Baba, just as you have always said."

She gave a nod, eyes going distant, likely from memories taking over. "I hope the land has given to you as it has always me," she whispered. "Such strength, our land…" Her eyes closed, and she took a deep breath before playing her ocarina again, a folk song from the area her family had lived for many generations.

"You hear that boy?" questioned Kashlack as Gunther put his things onto his bed, Tinka giving him a last look and hopeful smile before following their mother to the kitchen. "'Strong.' In body, mind, and _spirit_." Kashlack's back straightened as he looked off to the distance. "The Soviets knocked down our temples time after time. Crosses, bibles, and rosaries thrown into fires, but _never_ we allowed them to stomp out our faith. My father and uncles were thrown into _labor camps_ for their beliefs, and with their strength in mind, I never allowed for the Soviets' atheist propaganda to brainwash me. _This_ is strength, Gunther, and I hope to see that you have been touched by it and will continue to live with it in your heart."

Gunther nodded. "Of course, Apa."

"Good. Now, unpack. Dinner should be along shortly."

He turned to leave, and Gunther closed his door, tears beginning to sting his eyes as his lips pressed together.

He had heard the stories of the churches and temples being torn down many times growing up. He had been filled with wonder as a small child, hearing about the greatness of his grandfather and great uncles standing against the USSR to stand for their beliefs. Now… he didn't really know what to believe. Had they been stupid or passionate? Gunther's opinions kept flip-flopping between the two.

On one hand, he felt that it would be idiotic to be tortured and/or killed for some deity that, if real, didn't even _need_ such defense. No deity _needed_ to have man defend him/her/it.

Yet, Gunther sometimes also felt envy. He had never felt such passion, such devotion, for anything that he would actually be willing to go through such pain for it.

Was such devotion stupid?

Maybe, maybe not.

Was it admirable?

With Gunther, the answer to that varied day to day.

With a deep sigh, Gunther began to unpack, tossing the dirty clothes into the white hamper between his closet and dresser. The dresser was painted gold and needed to be touched up in a few places. Rhinestones used to line the wide mirror attached to the top, but they'd been removed, and a large, pale spot peeking out from under the five knitted goats told Gunther that either his mother or father had tried scrubbing away the gold paint before giving up.

After his bible and journal went onto his desk (also painted gold, and also with rhinestones and other decorative gems removed) between his closed Mac laptop and the plastic drawers that were now mostly-empty. Before, they had been holding sewing, crochet, and weaving kits. At least all of his sketch books, paints, and pastels had been left alone. Kashlack must have felt those were "manly" enough but had likely either disposed of the rest or had given them to Tinka.

"Mew!" called out a tortoiseshell cat. The creature yawned, and Gunther caught his breath after jumping from the noise.

"Oh, Mut," Gunther laughed, "I did not see you there, but, then, you do blend in with my pillows."

The bed had been redone as well, the sheets dark orange and comforter red. Only the quilt Katka had made and pillows Tinka had crafted remained of what had once been. Some of the pillows had a similar pattern to Mut's fur, made after Gunther had decided to keep her. After Fluffy had had kittens, Tinka and Gunther had each kept one before the rest were sold. Gunther was very much relieved that his little friend was still here, looking up at him with intelligent and mischievous golden-green eyes.

Until his first visit to the vet, it had been thought Mut was a female due to her coloring, but it was discovered that Mut was intersex. Neither male nor female… sometimes Gunther wondered if he had Mut in his life for a reason.

"Mrow," the cat chimed, getting to her feet—Gunther had just decided to keep referring to the cat as a 'she'—and trotting over to Gunther, purring as she rubbed her head against his hand.

"Ah, I have missed you." He pet the cat, who flopped down so he could rub her belly—Mut was the only cat Gunther knew of that actually enjoyed such a thing.

Eyes closing, Mut purred in delight, and Gunther almost didn't hear Tinka knocking at his door.

"Diner is ready!" she sang in English, opening the door a crack. "Ve are having _schweinebraten_ with _szilvas gomboc_ for dessert." She gave a bright smile that said she had made much of it herself.

Although wonderful had knitting and sewing, Tinka's cooking had often left something to be desired. With a mother that had grown up having a staff cook meals for her, Squitza hadn't been the best teacher, but Katka had been patient with her lessons, and both Squitza and Tinka had also signed up for classes a couple of years before Tinka and Gunther had auditioned for _Shake It Up Chicago!_

Her cooking had gotten much better over the years since she'd begun the lessons, and the glitter in the girl's eyes showed she hoped for praise from her brother. It made him smile, and he left a protesting Mut on the bed to go have dinner with his family. Hopefully, it wouldn't be nearly as awkward as the last one before he'd been sent away.

No one had yet brought up the white elephant, and while he was relieved at that, he also had to wonder how much longer such a thing could be ignored.

_**Research-wise, I think this is becoming one of the hardest stories I've decided to write, and while I had taken a break from writing this for some time, I really want to write it, and I think it will be one of my better ones. However, I'm searching though forums, help sites, and other websites about transgender, what some people have gone through, what the family goes through, and please feel free to refer me to any sites you may know of, maybe books or videos you think might be able to help, anything. Thank you in advance for those able to help, and I hope everyone will enjoy this story. The more I write, the more I'm enjoying writing it, and I hope you all will like it as much as I do. :) I'll try to update soon! :)**_

_**Oh, and Gunther's cat's name is pronounced "moot".**_


	2. A Friend

**Chapter 2: A Friend**

"_Hearts live by being wounded." - Oscar Wilde_

There was no huge crowd welcoming Gunther back to school, but it wasn't like he had expected such a thing anyway. Still, he thought it would be nice to have someone that would be ecstatic to see him back, someone besides his sister. He loved her, he loved that they had a closer relationship than other siblings he'd seen, but he also wanted friends.

It was hard, though. Camaraderie meant getting close to people, but what if by doing that, they realized _just_ how different he was? What if by finding that out, they were put off and immediately made him a pariah? Even the thought was too much for Gunther to take.

"Hey, Sparkles," greeted Ty, who was carrying what looked to be his younger sister's book bag. He must have come to the school to deliver it to her, since he should be in college by now (that was, if he'd been accepted into one). "Where's your, um, sparkles? I figured Paris would have given you even _crazier_ ideas for clothes."

_Paris, huh?_ thought Gunther. It didn't shock him that Tinka would have lied about his whereabouts. It might have been difficult to think of a lie for why he'd go back to the Old Country. "Lost luggage," he responded, putting the books he didn't yet need into his locker. "Apparently airports have a problem with losing suitcases even the _blind_ can find."

Ty laughed at that and tipped his checker-print fedora at him. "Well, almost didn't recognize you with the new threads and hair. Lookin' good, though. See ya, Sparkles. Gotta go catch my baby sis before she has a panic attack."

_He's going to need to think of a new nickname,_ Gunther thought. _I wonder what has Rocky so flustered she would forget her book bag._

He instantly shook the thought away, looking down at his bland shirt and jeans. His shoes were simple sneakers, still white from only coming out of the box this morning. He ran a hand through his hair, hating how short it was now. It wasn't _too_ bad, he guessed. At least it wasn't a buzz cut or anything.

On his way to trig (ugh, the worst class to have first thing in the morning besides gym), Gunther stopped suddenly as he was about to round a corner, hearing a heated argument. As time for first period crept ever-so closer, the halls were empty but for several stragglers, the two between a column and row of lockers making the hairs on the back of Gunther's neck rise.

"… such huge teases!" exclaimed the large guy—a few inches taller than Gunther's height of six-foot-two, it seemed—with dusty-brown curls trimmed short and small, dark brown eyes filled with anger. "_Sluts_!"

Having to look up at him, the fiery redhead had her thin arms crossed over her nearly-flat chest and a hip cocked. Her tawny eyes were narrowed in annoyance and flashing in challenge. "If you're trying to hurt me, you're even lousier with _words_ than you are with your _fists_," she retorted, lips moving in a near-snarl as she spoke, tone more like a feral growl.

The girl's style hadn't changed too much since Gunther had last seen her. She wore a torn, grungy crop tee over a red tank top that barely met school regulations, and the holes in her tattered-looking skinny jeans tucked into calf-high boots practically begged for a teacher to pull her aside. Red-and-mustard yellow-striped fingerless gloves covered her forearms. Thick lines of pale gold streaked the lower half of her waist-length hair, straightened today. Thick bangs—she hadn't gotten rid of those?—nearly covered her eyes. At first, Gunther thought she'd gotten taller, but then he noticed her daring, three-inch stiletto heels that only a dancer like her could find the balance to walk in.

Her stance showed challenge. Still full of confidence; she was not going to be pushed around easily, Gunther could see.

"_Excuse_ me?" rumbled the behemoth.

"You heard me!" A typical CeCe Jones response. "Now get your ratty, washed-out, rotten ass _out_ of my face!"

_Not_ such a typical CeCe Jones response. Where had _she_ learned to swear? She motioned with one hand as she spoke, florescent lights bouncing off the costume gems set into her rings—each finger had at least one.

Face beginning to turn red, the boy's fingers curled into a fist, and Gunther quickly stepped in, making the redhead jump in surprise and the guy whip his head over to shoot him a death glare.

"Hello, bay-bee!" he greeted CeCe, smiling as if he hadn't just witnessed this idiot about to attack her. "I see you have not even grown a centimeter." He finally looked over at the guy. "Oh, am I interrupting someting…?"

While his expression remained guileless, something in his eyes flashed that the guy seemed to understand. He threw a final scowl at CeCe before turning away just as the late bell rang.

"Thanks, but I could have taken care of myself." She looked up at Gunther, stance easing. "Whoa, what's with the hair? You join the military?"

With a small exhale, Gunther flicked up a lock of his short bangs. "Just… a new look."

"Yeah, the second time I asked, Tinka said you were in Paris looking at fashion schools."

Gunther blinked. _Second time…?_ Usually, Tinka was good at lying on the spot, but with how distraught she'd been after Gunther had left, he wouldn't be surprised if she'd slipped up at first before coming up with a good story.

Before Gunther could speak, CeCe expanded: "First time I asked, she said you were visiting a cousin in Austria. I don't think anyone really noticed you were gone for about a week. I just did because I wanted to gloat to both you and Tinka about Rocky and me singing that show while we were in Tokyo." She gave a triumphant grin, but it fell after a second. "But I noticed that Tinka looked miserable, so I asked if you'd gone on a trip. She looked even worse than that time you went to that 'sequin convention' in New York our freshman year."

The Sequin and Be-dazzling Convention had been yet another hoax Tinka had come up with to hide the fact that Gunther had been stuck at home the whole week, his parents not wanting him at school and having all of his work sent to him. This had been not long after Ty tried to reinvent him so he could get Danielle to go out with him, and Kashlack and Squitza had become fearful Gunther was losing touch with his culture.

Eyes moving away from CeCe's, Gunther murmured, "Eet's… it's a long story. So you and the others from the show still getting gigs?"

Huffing out her breath, the short girl shook her head, looking away as if hating having to admit this. "Not since once at the hospital a couple years ago, and even then, Rocky's dad had to practically beg them to let us do it."

_Shake It Up!_ had been losing money for the past several years. The video game hadn't done nearly as well as anticipated, mainly due to that virus. The Japanese hadn't been the only ones to download the Rocky and CeCe dancing app, and sales and stocks had gone down for _Shake It Up!_ as well as Watanabe Studios. It wasn't of any surprise that the Chicago branch of the show would have been abandoned after the fire, and it was likely other studios might end up getting the boot as well. Tinka had told Gunther all about it in one of her e-mails.

"How is Rocky?" Gunther asked. The two should probably be getting to class, but he didn't see any faculty members coming yet. "I saw Ty earlier, bringing her bag. I don't remember her being that forgetful before."

Still, CeCe wasn't making eye-contact, and she crossed her arms more tightly over her chest. "Fine, I guess. We sort of had a bit of a falling-out near the end of sophomore year."

"What?" This was a huge shock. Those two had always seemed even more attached at the hip than Gunther and Tinka!

She shrugged and finally looked up at him. "I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours. We're already late for class. Wanna just skip?"

Gunther had never skipped class before, but he was going to have to take summer courses anyway if he wanted to get his diploma. "Sure."

Sneaking out of the school hadn't been difficult, and they were soon at a café several blocks away. With Gunther's height and CeCe's attire (her make-up even looked pretty mature on her), they would likely be mistaken for college students, so there wasn't much to worry about. CeCe had her Lumia on the table, the alarm set to go off ten minutes before second period started.

"I guess it's my fault," CeCe finally announced with a sigh after taking a long sip of her mixed-chocolate mocha. "There was this end-of-the-year senior party, and I found out the address while in detention one morning. Rocky didn't even want to go at first, but I talked her into it."

"Like alvays." Gunther offered a smile before taking a sip of his gingerbread latte.

The girl's red-painted lips stretched, probably trying to return the gesture, but it ended up looking more like a grimace. "Yeah, like always." She broke a piece off her peppermint-chocolate biscotti. She rolled it around with her thumb and forefinger as she spoke. "Anyway, at the party, again, I talked her into having some fun. We played this game called 'Fubar', and we ended up _hammered_. Then we ended up in this game that's basically like Truth or Dare, but my memory's still a little hazy to remember the specifics."

She popped the end of the biscotti into her mouth, chewed, and then took a gulp of her drink. Gunther waited patiently for her to continue.

"One thing I do remember…, and, unfortunately, Rocky remembers it too… I chose 'dare', and I think I was only in my bra and skirt, but I _really_ hope that's just the alcohol screwing with my brain." CeCe took another long sip of her mocha, and her eyes shone with the pain of a memory she prayed she could _at least_ forget if there was no chance of the past being changed.

Wiping her eyes and trying to disguise it as rubbing her temples, CeCe continued: "Rocky and I kissed. That was the dare. Sorta. The skeeze dared me to kiss…" She rolled her lips inward. "To kiss the hottest person in the room."

Gunther could only stare, and there was a faint sting in his chest he ignored.

Not bothering to wipe her eyes this time, CeCe whispered, "If she had pushed me away, yelled at me, or something like that, then maybe we could have gotten past it…, but…" She swallowed, shoulders trembling as she stared down at the table, lost in memory. "_She kissed me back_." CeCe gasped a breath and quickly swiped away a tear. "And it wasn't even just a peck. I can still hear those guys cheering us on. I can still feel the heat from her body… But the next day, she wouldn't even _look_ at me, let alone talk about it. I remember how spiritual she's always been, so I don't know if she considers what we did a sin, or…"

"There must be more to it than religion if she's been reacting this way for so long," Gunther finally said after a while.

The redhead nodded. "That's what I've been thinking, but she keeps avoiding me. I've been trying to move on. I have a few other friends besides her, but we were so _close_, you know? And then something so stupid ruins everything."

"Do… do you like her like that?" Gunther wasn't even sure why he was asking. The words had come out before his brain could catch up. "I'm sorry, eef—"

"Not any more personal than what I've already said," CeCe muttered. Her voice sounded like she'd gained some of her composure back, and she took another bite of her biscotti, speaking through the food. "Kinda, I guess, but it's not like I'm even close to being in love with her to be honest." She swallowed audibly. "In that room, I think I chose her because she's familiar, and somewhere in my mind, I knew making out with a stranger would be a bad idea."

Gunther nodded at that.

"But if she's making this big a fuss over it, it makes me wonder if maybe _she's_ the one with the feelings. If that's it, then I _guess_ I can understand her wanting to take a lot of time to think about it. Her dad's really traditional, and even though her mom's more open-minded, that's usually just with _other_ people, not necessarily anyone in her life."

Again, Gunther nodded. His own parents were similar. His father hung onto tradition much more tightly than Squitza, but even she kept her own firm hold. She may not denounce people that fell out of the norm right away, but Gunther could still hear her crying, asking God to forgive her for failing as a mother. It broke his heart, and Gunther wondered if even after moving out, he could still even _think_ about entertaining those sinful thoughts.

He didn't want to hurt his mother just for chasing after a feeling that might not even be real. He just couldn't, even though the denial of his thoughts and feelings made him feel as if he were being sucked dry, like he may collapse and never be able to get up again. It was agony, trying to lock away that part of him, failing, trying again, failing, hating himself for it, and trying even harder only to feel like he was about to shatter from the effort. Yet, he thought it better than putting anyone else through any sort of pain just because of a selfish (_was_ it selfish? Again, he could never stick to one answer) choice.

Wiping the crumbs from the sides of her mouth (the lipstick still looked as red as before), CeCe raised her eyes. "Shared my story. How 'bout yours, 'Sparkles'?"

**_I first started writing this story before the episode where the studio got rebuilt, and since it and the robotic-looking new producer (I haven't actually seen that episode yet, but that's how he seemed to me in the commercials) don't fit into this story, Shake It Up, Chicago! is gone here. Anyway, that aside, it looks like a nice friendship between CeCe and Gunther is forming. :) I hope everyone liked the chapter; I'll try to have the next up soon! :)_**


	3. Support

**Chapter 3: Support**

"_Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for the truth." - Benjamin D. Israeli_

Throughout the story, CeCe listened patiently just as Gunther had done during hers. Certain times, the blond boy would look up to gauge her expression, but it remained neutral, though he thought he recognized compassion. There was a shimmer that lit up her bright eyes now and then, but the shadow from her bangs made it tough to decipher just what she might be feeling. She never left, though, so Gunther took that as a good sign.

He began with talking about he had always felt… _off_ even as a small child. He had used a washcloth to cover his penis when he'd been in the bathtub when he was three, up to the age of five, maybe six.

It was hard to grasp for words just how he'd felt. He didn't necessarily want to say his body had felt "wrong" or that he had felt "trapped" in it. It sounded right, but the years and years of suppressing those thoughts, of telling himself that he was wrong and that those feelings would pass… It confused him on such feelings. It had become too hard to grasp onto what was true.

He had once heard that if a lie was repeated enough times, it became truth to the speaker, but the lies Gunther had been telling himself weren't any truer now than before.

Right?

Telling himself those lies only made him confused and feel deflated, exhausted from his inner battles at night and waking up only to realize he would have to fight them all over again. Would have to tell himself things he's not sure he believes. Would have to push away feelings he knows deep down will never go away. Would have to go through cycles of uncertainty, self-loathing, and exhaustion over and over again.

What was the truth?

Gunther was a—

He immediately squashed the thought, not willing to allow it to take form in his mind. If it formed so surely in his mind, it might find a way out in the open again, and that only led to hardship. He couldn't even be sure it was the truth anymore. He didn't _want_ it to be. It only caused trouble, and _lies_ were supposed to be trouble, not the truth.

CeCe's eyes began to shine in what looked to be concern as Gunther got to how his father had started dragging him to church more and more often, especially to the icons and the confessionary. His voice fell to barely above a murmur as he spoke of the deep guilt and shame plaguing him for years about this.

"First, my dad just thought I was gay," he whispered. He then gave a humorless chuckle. "_Dat_, he might actually not mind. Not _now_. The truth is much worse than what he'd thought, and…"

He just stopped speaking. He'd only talk in circles if he kept going.

That "truth" might come out if he kept going.

Taking a deep breath, CeCe slowly shook her head. "So what? Okay, it's hard, but that has more to do with what _they_ think, not what _you_"—she paused for extra emphasis—"_feel_."

"I don't even really _know_ vut I feel," Gunther admitted. "I'm attracted to _girls_. Eef… if I were really…"

CeCe sighed. "Hey, I have tits and a vagina, but that doesn't mean the only thing I like are penises."

Gunther blinked. "You've gotten much cruder since I've been gone."

The redhead merely shrugged at that.

The meaning of that statement (instead of just the choice of wording) finally made it through Gunther's skull. "Wait, you're bisexual?"

Now, she blinked. "You heard my story and you have to ask that?"

It sounded more like a statement than a question.

Heat rose to Gunther's cheeks as he sheepishly looked away. "Sorry. Guess it's a bit of a shock, and being attracted to one girl doesn't mean you're not straight."

CeCe gave a nod. "I know. I did research—oh, don't look so surprised!—and I've always been attracted to girls and guys equally. It's just… I never really wanted to admit it to myself until after what happened with Rocky. Even after that, actually. It wasn't until some months ago I finally came out."

"I can understand not wanting to admit something to yourself."

"Yeah, but my mom's cool with it. Even joked that she'd actually prefer me having a girlfriend right now, because then I can't get pregnant and she doesn't have to worry about being called 'Nana' so soon." The corners of her mouth lifted up slightly at that, the smile growing when Gunther laughed. "Anyway, while I was doing some of the research, I saw a blog post where the person aid that there tends to be three main factors into a person's sexuality: physical make-up, the wiring of the brain, and orientation."

She watched Gunther's expression as she took another bite of her biscotti and a long sip of her mocha.

"So who you're attracted do doesn't have everything to do with your sexuality, and it looks like your biology doesn't have to do with how you feelor how your brain…" CeCe's eyes went to the floor, the shine passing through them showing her to be in thought, likely trying to find the right words to use so as to portray her thoughts the way she wanted to. After a few moments, she gave a small groan and rubbed her temples, elbows propped up on the table's surface. "God, I'm not good at this."

Moving his cup in a circular motion so it barely touched the table's surface, Gunther tried for a small smile, which came easily, surprisingly. "Better than anyone else that knows, besides maybe Tinka, but when you hear the same ting over and over from the same person… I guess it just starts to lose meaning and you don't believe dem anymore."

CeCe nodded. "Yeah, on his first day of school, Flynn embarrassed himself—majorly. I tried being a good sister for once and reassuring him everything would be fine, but it wasn't until those same exact words were said by someone else—namely Ty—that he finally listened."

"Yeah, Tinka says she's always there for me, dat she will always love me and will support me no matter what I choose." He sipped the last of his latte just as CeCe's cellphone went off.

Sweeping a finger across the screen, the girl took a bite of her biscotti before throwing the rest away along with her cup. Gunther followed, CeCe speaking while chewing:

"Good to see she's so nice to _someone_. She's become friends with Dina, if she hasn't already told you." CeCe swallowed and wiped her mouth but didn't let Gunther answer. "Anyway, you sound like a people-pleaser right now. You'll be old enough to move out soon, and I may not know much about not having a parent's approval, but you have Tinka behind you, and without my hip being connected to Rocky's, I have time for an extra friend, even you." She gave a playful smirk, looking at Gunther out of the corner of her eye as they headed back to the school.

Gunther rolled his eyes but was unable to stop his smile from forming. "Thank you oh-so much, CeCe the Great for offering your gorgeous hand of friendship."

"Huh, your sarcasm's not as annoying anymore. I really am lonely."

The two laughed, and Gunther was surprised at how light he felt when he had practically spilled his soul not long before, all of those questions and doubts swarming up, threating to tear his heart atom by atom. Yet, he didn't feel the self-loathing quite as hard this time. CeCe hadn't thought his feelings as unnatural or freakish, and while she'd said she wasn't good at giving advice on this, her presence and acceptance was wonderful to Gunther, comforting. It was a feeling he didn't want to go away.

**xxx**

It should have been obvious before that there would be repercussions for skipping first period, and Gunther found himself doing the work he'd missed in detention after the final bell. CeCe was there too, using her history book as a pillow before Mr. Carlo hit the edge of her desk with the book he was reading, jolting her into consciousness.

"Magna Carta!" she exclaimed as she entered the waking world, causing a few of the other students in detention to snicker.

Shaking his head, it looked as if Mr. Carlo were stifling his own laugh. "Keep studying, Miss Jones. This isn't nap time."

The redhead grumbled something that made the teacher's thin lips tighten as he pushed his large glasses up the bridge of his hooked nose and went back to his desk to continue his reading.

A half-hour later, Gunther found Tinka sitting on the bench in the hallway by the principal's office, knitting. She looked up as Gunther approached, beaming as she put away her knitting supplies. Her hair was in its usual up 'do, the bow bright pink with tiny black and purple dots sparkling across it.

She'd touched up her pink faux-leather jacket, zebra-print along the collar and black and purple, translucent and sparkly ruffles around the hem. With Gunther not wearing his usual matching clothes, there was no giant _T_ in place anywhere, but Gunther smiled upon seeing the sign of Gemini stitched into the plum-colored corset covering the long-sleeved pale blue top. The Gemini sign was over her heart, and there was a matching sign also stitched onto her book bag, which looked full, her overcoat probably stuffed tightly into it.

"Vere were you, Gunther?" she inquired, walking by his side as they headed out the building.

Gunther wondered about skipping first period with CeCe. Tinka had always had a bit of jealousy towards the short redhead. While Tinka and Gunther had always worked hard for what they wanted, it had always seemed to come easily for CeCe, like life had chosen her as one of the people meant to have everything delivered to them on a silver platter.

Tinka had often ranted (languages mixing together) how unfair it all was, from CeCe getting chosen to be on _Shake It Up!_ when she had failed the audition, to getting chosen for big dancing scenes, to being able to practically surf through life without a care. Gunther knew that last part was no longer true, but Tinka didn't need to know that. He also didn't want to upset her. Yet, not telling her at least about his time with CeCe this morning and then having her find out later would be worse.

"Gunther?" she looked up at him, eyes glistening with worry.

Honesty it was.

"I went to a nearby café with CeCe," he admitted, quickly explaining before his sister could blow up at him: "I vas about to go to class when I saw her arguing with someone. He looked like he was going to hit her, so I stepped in. Um, you know who he is? Tall, brown hair and eyes…"

Instead of looking angry, Tinka's expression turned thoughtful. "Um, wide and uglier than a goat's hiney?"

"Pretty sure that's him."

"Probably Kevin. Boy Dina went out with to make Deuce jealous some time ago." She shook her head. "I told her dat she should be happy being free of that… _Deuce_… but love makes some crazy, yes?" She gave a tinkling laugh, and the two left the building, Gunther pulling on his yak-fur jacket as Tinka pulled on her mauve overcoat.

As they headed down the steps in the front of the school, Gunther caught CeCe's eye as she headed the other way. He offered a smile, and she returned it, waving before heading home.

Not having seen the exchange, Tinka continued, "Anyvay, CeCe was going out with him for a while some months ago." Her expression turned to one of anger she quickly masked. "Nasty break-up."

That sent a ping through Gunther's chest, which he immediately squashed. It wasn't his business who CeCe went out with when they were only beginning to become friends.

"He's probably still not taking it vell, but why would you skip class with her?"

Shifting his backpack to hang from his left shoulder, Gunther answered, "She knew you were lying about Paris."

Tinka's eyes flashed in alarm.

"Said you first told her I vent to Austria before you came up with the Paris story. Did you know she and Rocky aren't friends anymore?"

Looking at the sidewalk, the girl shrugged. "I admit, I tried asking Dina, but she didn't know either, so I caved and vent to Rocky, but she wouldn't talk, so I don't know what happened. Why?"

"CeCe told me what happened, and I…" Gunther took a breath. "I told her what I've been going through."

Gunther walked three more steps before realizing his sister had frozen in place, the wind threatening to free her honey-gold locks from the thick layer of hairspray keeping them in place.

"What?" she demanded. "You told _that_—?!"

"Tinka, Tinka, Tinka!" Gunther rushed back to his sister. "Eet's alright—"

"How do you know she won't go blabbing—"

"Because she's vorking on her own troubles." He met Tinka's widened eyes, making sure she wouldn't interrupt. "She was very understanding."

"Of course she vas," murmured Tinka, button nose scrunching up. That troubled, angry look came back, again quickly masked, but Gunther wasn't sure whether he should pry or not.

"Trust me on dis," Gunther implored. "Tinka, I'm very happy to have you dere for me." He smiled as the corners of her mouth slowly began to turn upwards. "I love you, you're my sister. I don't tink I would have been able to survive without you there to support me."

"No matter what," she reminded, making her brother's smile grow.

"No matter what," he repeated. "But I also need friends. You have Dina now, yes?"

Tinka gave a sigh. "_Ja_."

"I tink it would be good if there were others that supported me as much as you."

Smiling now, Tinka took her brother's hand, the two heading back to their apartment. "I tink so too. Everyone needs someone dere for them, yes?"

"Of course."

"Just don't expect me to hang out vith her too!"

Gunther laughed. "Don't you already?"

"Because she begs me!" Tinka insisted, a flash in her eyes telling her brother not to argue.

"Of course, of course," Gunther replied. "No one can have fun without the Amazing Tinka Hessenheffer!"

"Exactly!"

_**I wanted to end this chapter on a pretty light note. :3 Next chapter will show Kashlack; he has just as long and hard a personal journey ahead of him as Gunther does. I hope y'all liked this chapter, and I'll try to get the next one up soon. :)**_


	4. Battle of Spirit

**Chapter 4: Battle of Spirit**

"_The purpose of all major religious traditions is not to construct big temples on the outside, but to create temples of goodness and compassion inside, in our hearts." - Tenzin Gyatso_

Kashlack kissed the hands of the icons of the Virgin Mary, St. Seraphim of Sarov, and St. John the Baptist; he then kissed the feet of the Jesus statuette before bowing before the altar and heading into the living room where he spotted his mother working on some needlepoint, her thin, wrinkled hand shaking slightly as she worked.

"Hello, Matka," greeted Kashlack, going to his laptop on the coffee table. He and Squitza both worked from home, but she was out shopping for more clothes for Gunther and some for him.

He and she had agreed the boy needed more subdued clothes, and Kashlack was going to change his own wardrobe so the boy may not be tempted or think his father as a hypocrite. Quite honestly, the man just over fifty did not really like the style anyway, but Squitza had always loved to stand out, always having been dressed in bright and eye-catching gown and outfits. She hadn't necessarily wanted Kashlack leaving her dressing as such alone. While, back home, her tastes always gained her the attention of next-in-line, here, it simply made her odd.

None of the Hessenheffers were blind or deaf to the ridicule they received by how they chose to dress or act, but all have realized that even that sort of attention was much better than simply being one of millions, shuffling around like a clone. Kashlack wasn't raising clones, but Gunther's case was much too different, too… Kashlack didn't want to call his son sinful or even odd anymore. All were guilty of sin, but many repented, continually begging the Lord for forgiveness and to wash their hearts clean once again.

Yet… it was simple to return a stolen item and pay a fine or even spend some hours in community service. It was simple to break up a homosexual relationship, and there were camps and services to rid one of such urges. But if Gunther one day sought the surgery Kashlack dared not name? How could one undo that? Was there no repentance for such a sin? It seemed almost as unforgivable as suicide!

"What is bothering you, my son?" inquired Katka, "It was only in the few years past you begun going to the icons and services more and more."

As Katka only knew several words and phrases in English and Kashlack did not like speaking that language unless necessary, the two spoke in the dialect of Krajinazosvetlo, the region of which the two had been born and raised as well as their ancestors for many generations. Most Americans with little knowledge of any language besides their own got it confused with Russian (though Kashlack still scoffed at once hearing it compared to German), but the dialect was more closely related to Slovak.

Turning to look at his mother as she led the golden-yellow thread where she wished with that thin, bone needle, Kashlack questioned, "You are opposed to my renewal in faith?"

"Not at all," the old woman replied swiftly, a curl falling from her bun and settling by her face. "It is the reasoning for this 'great awakening' that I sometimes oppose."

Shifting his body so he could face Katka more comfortably, Kashlack moved some of his still-damp tight curls away from his wide face. "What do you mean 'the reasoning'?"

"I understand raising your children to know, respect, and love the Lord, but you are not doing more than putting fear into the boy. Where is this talk of strength I keep hearing around here?"

"Matka, he was speaking such nonsense of—"

Eyes sharper than any youth's, Katka pointed her needle at her son, cutting him off. "Do not raise your voice to _me_, my son. I raised you to be much more respectful that that." She went back to pulling the needle through the canvas cloth, but the action now looked closer to stabbing, like Tinka would do when sewing to get her frustration out.

After a few seconds, she continued: "And on raising you: If my memory serves—and my mind is _not_ going, despite what you and Squitza think—you were not nearly as faithful as you let on to your son. You were not proud of your father and uncles for their choice. I seem to remember many nights of us fighting, me giving you those same talks of strength in spirit and faith you are giving Gunther, while you only went further away, angry at God for daring to let the people standing up for Him die at such cruel hands."

Only two of Kashlack's uncles, Dalibor and Vladislav, had come back to the farm. Kashlack's other uncle sent there, Dávid, and his father, Aurel, had perished while at the camps.

"Sometimes I am still angry," Kashlack admitted after a few moments of hesitation, "but I have grown older—"

Katka muttered something, making Kashlack's thin lips tighten. He couldn't decipher what she'd said, but the tone made it clear it was something bordering on "Yet your maturity has yet to catch up."

"I may not have listened to you back then about God's majesty and plan, but I believe it now. I remember you always telling me about Job, how he begged God for answers, demanding to know why he had been plagued so when he had been so true in his faith." Kashlack bent towards the coffee table and double-tapped on his laptop's touchpad to wake it up. "God, in a whirlwind—"

"I'm the one who told you that story, I know it well," Katka snapped, still stabbing away at the cloth. She then tied off the golden thread and reached for the red from the box on the small table to her left. "I have been trying to stay out of your way on this matter. I do not know enough about such things to have a fit opinion, I believe, but what I _do_ know is that Gunther is unhappy."

"He _thinks_ he is unhappy—"

Her eyes locked with his once again. "Just as _you_ thought God was no more than an abusive creator with no interest in our well-being, only finding joy in our torment." Her tone was as sharp as her bright blue eyes, words clipped.

"That is not the same!" Kashlack brought a fist down onto the arm of the salmon-and-gold-colored couch before shooting up to his feet, beginning to pace across the room.

Eyes following him, Katka asserted, "I told you not to raise your voice at me!" She exhaled loudly, shaking her head as she went back to her needlepoint. "No, it is not the same, but do not keep trying to throw piety into your arguments. This may not be as bad as you make it to be. If he feels so strongly, would it really be opening the door for the devil to speak with Gunther on the matter? _Listen_ to him instead of yelling at him?"

"I will not have my _son_—" Ceasing his pacing, Kashlack put a hand to his face, unable to continue.

Pausing in her sewing once again, Katka looked up and finished the thought: "Become a daughter?"

"We were all made in God's image!" Kashlack asserted. "You, yourself, told me as much over and over growing up. Almost as much as about His mysterious plan."

Katka began sewing again, her motions calmer than before. "Yes, we were all made in God's image, man _and_ woman."

Taking his hand away from his eyes, Kashlack looked at his mother. "Where are you going with this, Matka?"

"God made Adam. He was made in His image. Does that make God male? No, because He also made Eve. God is neither male nor female, yet he is also _both_ male and female. Neither and both at the exact same time, just as He is also knows all and is able to be both outside time and space yet be here with us at the same time." She paused in her needlework once again to lock eyes with her son. "_We_ cannot be all like He. There must be divisions, such as man and woman, but what if one feels more connection to the other?"

"God doesn't make mistakes!" Kashlack couldn't believe what his mother was saying! Did it not bother her _at all_ that Gunther could be forever stained with such sin because of just one whim?!

"Did I say that?" Katka challenged. "God makes no mistakes. _We_ do. As I have said, I have not much understanding on such a matter, and obviously, _you_ are unwilling to let yourself _try_ to understand."

"My Gunther—"

"He was God's first," Katka reminded calmly. "God is good. He is pure light. It is us that mess things up, always arguing about what falls into the light and what does not."

She looked up for a second, waiting for her son to argue. When he did not, she continued: "You are supposed to love your son—Don't you dare interrupt me again, boy!—and while discipline is a part of love, showing him how there are consequences in the world and trying to teach him right from wrong, you are now forcing your thoughts onto him. You want him to do good, stay in Grace, but you are pushing him away. In your quest to keep him close to God, you are pushing him away from both the Lord _and_ you."

Taking deep breaths and going back to the couch, Kashlack stated, "This isn't easy, Matka."

"It never is," she replied softly. "No matter how many of those books they put on the shelves."

The two spent the next hour in silence, Kashlack trying to get work done while his mind refused to cease wandering as mental debates warred, crowding everything else. He didn't believe—didn't _want_ to believe—in any of this 'transgender' stuff he'd found online when trying to figure out ways to handle his son. There have been others that had similar experiences with their own children, and Kashlack prayed for the parents that had the poor judgment to let their daughters begin dressing as boys and sons dressing as girls, and then taking them to doctors for hormones! It was deplorable!

Kashlack had never been one to judge parenting styles, but he was distressed at the number of godless families out there. Yet, now he had his own mother saying that maybe it was better to let Gunther stain his soul by disgracing the body the Father had crafted for him! This was a spiritual battle Kashlack wanted Gunther to win, but was his mother right? By pulling Gunther closer to God, was he actually pushing him away from both his earthly and heavenly fathers?

The distressed father wanted to be angry. He was, but that emotion was continually squashed by stress, confusion, and sorrow. Yes, sorrow, he admitted to himself. By letting Gunther choose, the boy might end up taking the devil's hand, and then Kashlack's son would die, bodily and spiritually.

Some forums online had parents talking about how they eventually came to the conclusion that they were gaining a child, not losing one, but Kashlack was sure he could never gain a new daughter; he could never be able to accept such a thing!

He had to keep Gunther in the light. While it may be true that people had been arguing about what was truly moral since the beginning, Kashlack was very sure that Gunther changing his sex could never possibly be in the light. It was darkness. People calling such feelings natural were blinded, and hopefully, they would see the truth before it was too late.

There should never be a 'too late' for Gunther.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kashlack tried to get his thoughts in order, stopping the tears that began to sting his eyes. He didn't want his son to grow to hate him as Katka suggested could happen with how things were going. At the same time, however, Kashlack was the father. He was supposed to protect his children!

But how did he protect them from _sin_? Only God and their own faith in Him could ensure that, but as he thought over his mother's words, Kashlack knew that Gunther must be slipping.

And he feared there was nothing he could do about that.

**_First, to 'Guest': No, Gunther's not gay, he's transgender._ **  
**Okay, Kashlack will have a chapter in his point of view like this one throughout the story. With this issue, I think he has a lot of room to grow and learn, but will he grow much? Will his opinons ever change? I think Kashlack's chapters will be a little more difficult for me to write than Gunther's, since his opinions are so different from mine, but his stance on the issue is just as important as Gunther's for the story. Anyway, I shouldn't drone on. I hope you all liked the chapter, and I'll try to have the next one up soon. :)**


	5. Bad News

**Chapter 5: Bad News**

"_If a man does not make new acquaintances as he advances through life, he will soon find himself alone. A man should keep his friendships in constant repair." - Samuel Johnson_

The next day at school, Gunther spotted Rocky, and he offered a small wave, getting a puzzled look, awkward wave, and silence before she rushed off. She'd gotten taller, probably the same height as her brother now, even in flats. Her clothing was more modest than Gunther remembered—even more modesty would require wearing a nun's habit—and her hair was straightened, left down to where it practically veiled her face. It was odd not seeing her in her usual fashion, almost as odd as not seeing her at CeCe's side.

The look in her eyes had been of one Gunther could relate to; a look that said, "Please no one figure out what I'm thinking when I have no idea myself."

It was a look of confusion mixed with guilt and fear.

Gathering the necessary books from his locker, Gunther remembered back to a dream he once had as a young child: He was at Fancy Nancy's ballet studio, practicing his role as the ugly duckling when he froze, seeing a girl in the mirror. At first, it looked like Tinka, but further inspection showed her hair to be a shade lighter in color, pulled back into a tight bun and eyes the same cobalt blue as Gunther's. She moved as he moved, and Gunther realized that the girl was who he was supposed to be.

It hadn't been a startling realization. Quite the contrary, it had been the most tranquil the boy had ever felt, tears actually coming to his eyes when he awoke only to find out the body he had didn't match the one he knew he was supposed to have. Gunther remembered his mother rushing in, the boy quickly making up some fib about a nightmare when she asked about the tears.

That hadn't been the only dream he'd had of such an instance, each one making him wake up feeling at peace, followed by great pain he had always demanded God to take away.

Lips pressed together and brow furrowed in agitation, Gunther slammed his locker door shut.

"That little bitch try to play you too?"

Gunther jumped slightly at the voice, turning around to see the behemoth from yesterday—Kevin. His thick arms were crossed, lips pursed in a way where it was hard to tell whether or not he was sincere. His stance looked challenging, but the way Tinka had spoken of this guy, Gunther wondered if he always came off that way, not even thinking about it.

Not wanting to deal with Kevin, Gunther just shook his head. "No, nothing like dat. Now, I need to get to—"

Kevin stepped in Gunther's path, his expression becoming one of definite challenge. "Where you going? You weren't so quick to get to class yesterday, goat boy."

'_Goat boy'? _thought Gunther. _Really? He really is lousy with words._

"Git away from him!" Tinka ordered, marching down the hall with Dina in tow. Deuce wasn't far behind, a smartphone in one hand with his thumb poised over a button on the screen.

The brute scowled at the group coming to Gunther's aid, and the blond student suddenly became very aware of several others stopping or slowing down to see what was happening—and likely hoping for a fight to make the day more bearable.

"Oh, got an army, huh?" Kevin's beady eyes went to Dina, who crossed her arms and cocked a hip, her large brown eyes holding his gaze. She smirked when he broke eye-contact first, turning his gaze back to Gunther.

"You're just talk. Can't really fight, huh?"

Deuce answered when Gunther opened his mouth: "Doesn't have to. Wasn't what you did before enough? And I know the space in your head is mostly air, but I would have thought that your memory of what I'm capable of would woulda actually stuck. Make a move towards Gunther, and I press this button." His dark eyes narrowed, expression more serious than Gunther remembered ever seeing it. "And I'm sure we both know what will happen then."

The scowl deepened, Kevin clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. Finally, he spun around and marched past the group, making sure to hit Deuce in the shoulder, the Latino barely moving, eyes following the hulking boy until he was around the corner.

Tinka raced to Gunther's side as Deuce's expression turned to one of pain as he held his hit arm close, shakily squeaking, "Owww…."

The onlookers hurried to class, the promise of a fight gone.

"Oh, baby!" Dina's attention turned to her boyfriend, and she held him close, whispering comforting words in his ear as Tinka asked Gunther if he was alright.

"I'm fine," he assured her. He noticed that Dina's curls were pulled back in a high ponytail, side bangs left to frame her alabaster face.

Her hair had been kept at about the same length Gunther remembered it, but her clothing looked more feminine, probably from shopping trips with Tinka. Her usual oversized hoodie had been traded in for a stylish, dark purple denim jacket, her jeans hugging her long legs and tucking into knee-high boots with faux fur around the tops.

Deuce's style hadn't changed, but his hair was a little longer and parted at the side. He'd also gotten taller, but it wasn't much—he'd probably still be a hair below Gunther's shoulders. Even Dina was taller, but, then again, her boots had heels.

"Are you sure?" asked Tinka, worry shimmering in her deep-set eyes. "Dat guy is bad news, Gunther. I didn't really tell you everything. Eet was really horrible."

"She's right," said Deuce as he slid his phone into an inner pocket of his hoodie. He seemed fine now, one hand seeking Dina's as her unpainted lips curved into a smile when she looked at him. "He said and did some bad things to both Dina and CeCe junior year. The rumors finally started dying down within the past couple months or so."

The corners of her mouth falling as her eyes went to the floor, Dina gave a slow nod. "It was probably partly my fault for using him."

Fingers gently touching her jaw to lead her gaze back to his, Deuce softly declared, "It was not your fault. There's no excuse for what he did."

"What happened?" Gunther asked as the bell sounded.

"I'll tell you after school," Tinka promised, Deuce nodding, motioning towards himself and Dina. "_We_ vill."

"You missed quite a bit while in France."

Dina's eyes slid over towards Tinka as her back suddenly straightened, and it looked like the dark-haired girl knew something was up but didn't want to push.

"Seems like it," Gunther replied. "Um, okay, we meet at Crusty's?"

Everyone nodded in agreement and split up for class.

**xxx**

Gunther was supposed to meet his sister at the bench near the principal's office, but on his way there from literature, he spotted CeCe, again in an argument. It was in the school courtyard, the double doors propped open for the streams of students heading home or cutting across the courtyard to get to the other side of the school for a club meeting or detention. There weren't as many people left, Gunther having spent almost fifteen minutes speaking to Ms. Rayne about extra credit and what summer course he would need.

Behind a pillar in the courtyard was CeCe, Gunther able to see her hair and part of her back. From his angle, the other person was obscured, but it looked like CeCe had to look up slightly, the heels on her shoes barely more than an inch high today. She wore a bright red bubble coat, and a large, furry, pink hat was on her head.

"Just _talk_ to me!" CeCe pleaded. Her tone sounded helpless, and Gunther found himself wanting to embrace her and tell her everything was alright. He shook away the thought, thinking he should just leave but was unable to do so.

"Am I not doing that now?" the voice was cold as the weather, and Gunther's eyes widened upon recognizing it as belonging to Rocky.

There was hesitancy, CeCe probably thinking of what to say. "Wait!" she exclaimed suddenly, Rocky probably beginning to turn to leave. "I miss you." There was a hiccup to her words, like she was trying not to cry, making the sharp pain in Gunther's chest worse.

More silence but for the shuffling of some feet and the whistle of the wind beginning to pick up speed.

Finally, Rocky spoke again: "I… I miss you too. I guess." Her words were soft, unsure. Gunther could picture that faraway look from earlier.

"You _guess_?" The tone of grief was starting to morph into anger.

"What do you want me to say?!" Anger for anger. Already, Gunther knew this argument would not end well, but he couldn't interfere.

"I don't know!" CeCe's throat sounded clogged, her tears probably starting to spill. "I just want to go back and undo that entire party!"

Rocky's voice turned soft again. "You're not the only one, but it happened."

"Please, Rocky, I don't want our friendship to end like this." The pleading tone was back. "We've been inseparable for so long! Since we were _five_! We can't just throw all that away because of this!"

"I…" Rocky sounded confused, doubting everything. "I don't want to throw it all away either."

Gunther had to strain his ears to hear her.

"I just…" Her words were almost lost to the wind. "I just need to think."

"It's been almost two years!" CeCe was definitely sobbing now. "How much longer can it take to _think_?!"

"I don't know," Rocky admitted after a moment. It sounded like she was on the verge of tears as well. "Just give me time. I need to think about everything. I don't know how to feel, what I'm supposed to feel or how to process—"

"You just _feel_, Rocky!" It sounded like CeCe was gulping down air. "You don't _have_ to _think_ about it. Just _feel_."

"It's not that easy!" Rocky exploded. She then quickly muttered, "I gotta go."

"Rocky!" CeCe called, but Gunther could see Rocky walking away quickly, clutching her book bag close and unbuttoned navy blue overcoat flying behind her in the wind. CeCe slapped her hands over her mouth and gave a scream that caused a few people close by to jump, a few asking what was wrong before she brushed them off and marched away from the school, the tails of her dark pink scarf flying behind her.

While Gunther wanted to chase after her, he knew that Tinka was waiting for him, so he headed towards where they'd agreed to meet, the girl jumping up to her feet as she saw him approach. She'd already put on her hot pink pea coat with yak fur lining the hem and sleeves and leopard print lining the inside. She was pulling on her pink gloves with the leopard-print lining as she smiled.

"_Grüß dich_, Gunther!" she greeted while giving him a hug he immediately returned. Once they pulled away, Tinka inquired, "Why so late?"

"Sorry," Gunther replied as they headed towards the front entrance. "I vas talking to my teacher about this summer. Still can't believe I won't be able to graduate with you."

"I know!" Tinka groaned, playing with her hair, which was in a fishtail braid decorated with bright ribbons. "I hate eet too."

"Yeah, but noting can be done about it now. So are you going to start telling me about dis Kevin guy?"

Tinka let out a long sigh. "Let us vait until Crusty's."


	6. Friends

**Chapter 6: Friends**

"_Laws alone cannot secure freedom of expression; in order that every man present his views without penalty there must be spirit of tolerance in the entire population." - Albert Einstein_

Deuce and Dina were already at a booth in the back of the pizzeria, the two sitting across from one-another with a drink in front of each. There was a third drink next to Dina and a menu next to Deuce. Sitting where he could see the entrance, the Cuban boy spotted Gunther and Tinka as they entered, lifting a hand in a short wave. Dina then sat up straighter and turned to see, smiling as she spotted her friend and giving a nod to Gunther, a potential friend.

There were the slightest stirrings of envy within Gunther while seeing Tinka take off her jacket as she slid into the booth with ease, flashing her own smile and giving Dina a hug and a peck on each cheek. While the hug was returned, the kisses were not, but the unaltered smile on the dark-haired girl's oval-shaped face showed she was used to that part of the greeting by now.

"Got you a Mountain Dew with no ice," Dina said as Gunther took off his coat and dropped it on his backpack, which he'd placed next to the booth.

As he sat down, Deuce told him, "Didn't know what you'd like. Dina and I already ordered, and she ordered for Tinka."

"Deep-dish veggie pizza with bread sticks on the side," Dina expanded before taking a sip of her soda.

"Thank you!" Tinka replied.

While Gunther was always happy to see his sister smile, he felt that twinge of envy again. He and Tinka had always been practically connected at the hip. Neither had ever had friends, not close ones. Sure, there had been a couple of times where Tinka had hung out with CeCe and Rocky (sometimes Dina had been there too), and Gunther had hung out with Deuce and Ty once in a while, Flynn occasionally in tow.

Yet, the majority of their time was together, but with Gunther having been away for so long, he knew Tinka would have been lonely. She deserved people there for her—friends. That wasn't necessarily what Gunther felt envy at.

While Tinka had been getting closer to Dina, Gunther had been at the farm, getting heckled by his cousins and teased by his uncle whenever he tried to complain. Ol'ga and Adelaida had been kind, and Domonkos had been alright, his teasing often having been light and only when Gunther was in the mood to take it.

Still, Gunther had found it hard to become really close to any of them, though the three had tried to break through his shell. He was still in contact with them and a couple of people he'd met while at the internet café or wandering the town nearest to the farm, but Gunther's walls had been tall and thick, the relationships never going further than acquaintanceship.

Maybe it was Tinka's ease with friendship Gunther was really jealous of. Tinka was able to be herself and have a friend who, not just accepted her for it, but loveed her for it. Gunther was too frightened to even ponder such a possibility for himself.

Not long after Gunther ordered a Dr. Pepper without ice (he didn't understand why Americans insisted on adding ice when the drinks were already cold) and a deep-dish taco pizza, Deuce's, Dina's, and Tinka's food arrived. Deuce dunked one of his hot wings into the small cup of dressing when Dina began to tell Gunther about Kevin:

"After Deuce broke up with me"—she shot him a sharp look that was returned with a sauce-covered apologetic smile—"I asked Kevin out to make him jealous. He was alright, I guess. Pretty sweet at first, but he liked to be in control. Got jealous whenever he saw me talking to any other guys, even if I was just asking about homework." She shook her head and took a bite of her chicken alfredo.

After swallowing a bite of her breadstick, Tinka took her turn to tell the story: "He didn't take it vell when Dina broke up with him to get back with Deuce. He took eet even worse when he found out why Dina even went out with him in the first place." She sighed and dipped the breadstick into the small cup of garlic sauce. "He mostly just sulked, but Dina said she saw him following her sometimes."

A waitress with her auburn curls pulled back into a ponytail brought Gunther his drink, and he nodded at her with a smile of thanks, which she returned before heading back to the front counter.

Deuce wiped the buffalo sauce off of his face and his hands. "Had a cousin watch Kevin for a bit to make sure Dina would be fine. We didn't want to involve anyone in her family, since her dad would have been informed, and… well…."

"I figured Kevin may be a creep, but he didn't deserve to be dumped into Lake Michigan with cinderblocks tied to him," Dina finished around her food, using a napkin to cover her mouth as she did so.

Gunther coughed on his Dr. Pepper, taking one of Tinka's napkins. He'd heard the occasional joke about Deuce and Dina having relations to the mob, but the look on Dina's face when she made that comment said that she fully believed that messing with her would have been the last mistake Kevin ever made if her father had found out.

"Anyway," Deuce continued, peeling away some meat away from the bone of one of his wings, "Kevin left her alone after a while. We figured he was giving up on her, but I had my cousin keep an eye on him just in case. Things took a turn for the worse when CeCe started dating him." He dunked the meat into the cup of dressing before popping it into his mouth.

"He was the last link in her chain of boyfriends," Dina informed. "She'd have a new boyfriend every couple of weeks. I kept trying to talk to her about it, but she said nothin' other than it's her business, not mine." She shook her head as she reached for her drink.

Thinking back to his conversation with CeCe at the café, Gunther could see that happening, though it didn't make him feel any better about it. Jumping from boy to boy, trying to convince herself she was attracted to men and only men. Gunther remembered hearing stories of kids that had been thrown out onto the curb by parents upon coming out of the closet. He'd heard of one case where a boy's dad actually _shot_ at him!

The risk of such threats as well as possible heckling from peers… Gunther understood that only being part of the fear. A large part maybe, but only a part. Another part of the fear came from rewriting what they knew about themselves. Identity was important, and to suddenly be confronted with something that seemed to change what a person knew about his or her identity? It could be terrifying.

"She broke up with Kevin after a week," said Tinka in a small voice, eyes on her pizza slice. "Eet was very loud, lots of yelling."

"Courtyard right after school," said Deuce. "She was mad, saying he was needy and overbearing. She called him a stalker and said she couldn't stand him being near her. He screamed back just as loud, and I guess he has an older brother or something who was at the party CeCe and Rocky went to in sophomore year."

"He called her a dyke," Dina growled, stabbing her pasta. Her New Jersey accent became thicker. "Called her a whore, too. Said she'd screw anything that moved. I was passing by when I heard the fight and charged in, shoving Kevin away from CeCe. He called me a slut and said…" Dina's shining, dark eyes closed as her hand shook.

Napkin covering his hand, Deuce reached for his girlfriend, brow furrowed and eyes shining. Tinka rubbed Dina's back and softly said to Gunther, "Kevin began spreading vicious rumors. He said CeCe and Dina were lovers but broke up when Dina cheated on her with Deuce. There was even a rumor that CeCe and Dina had been in porn videos."

Tinka said that last bit with the most disgusted look on her face, Dina's lips tightening as a shadow passed over Deuce's face.

That news made Gunther's stomach twist, the sight of his pizza coming making it worse.

"T-tanks," he managed to the waitress.

"Sure thing," she responded, her blue eyes flickering towards Deuce and Dina. "You guys okay?"

"Yeah," Deuce answered quickly. "Um, can you just bring extra napkins?"

"Sure." The waitress left before Deuce could thank her.

After the napkins were brought over, Dina had collected herself enough to continue: "I got called into the principal's office one day. The rumors were getting out of control, and I had to be interviewed. CeCe and I told him Kevin started the rumors, but while he was interviewed too, nothing could be done. He never outwardly bullied us, and while lots of people saw him and CeCe fighting that one afternoon, it couldn't be proved that he started the rumors. We're not even sure he did."

She shoveled a spindle of linguini wound around her fork into her mouth, silence taking over the table as she chewed. She then said, "It didn't take long for the gossip to take on a mind of its own. Anyone could have started making up new crap to keep it going."

Wiping his hands, Deuce stated, "Since the principal couldn't do anything, I started having Kevin followed again. I wanted him punished, but Dina said we had to be smart about it, so I had my cousin watch him and send me notes and pictures about what he did throughout the day, who he hung out with, and so on. Also by that time, I called Don Rio, Dina's dad, and told him what I was doing, convincing him I could handle it and get Kevin to back off. Took a lot of convincing, but he trusted me."

It was becoming obvious that Deuce was not one to underestimate. Gunther remembered back to when he stood up to Kevin, phone in hand and making that threat. Exactly what would have happened?

Deuce took a sip of his soda. "One day, someone broke into Dina's locker and filled it with 'toys'." He said the word with revulsion. "Did the same thing to CeCe's locker. 'Dyke' and some crude picture was spray-painted on her locker in the girl's locker room according to Dina and Tinka, and there were girls who even started a petition saying they didn't want CeCe or Dina in the locker room with them, accusing them of 'checking them out'."

The expression on Deuce's copper-toned face hardened, and his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, Dina reaching forward to take one of his hands.

Staring down at the slice of pizza he still hadn't bitten into, Gunther tried to calm the rage beginning to spill into his veins. How could people be so horrid?!

"Eet vas actually CeCe's doing that started to really put an end to it," Tinka announced after drinking half of her Mountain Dew. "Our school had already had a gay alliance club on record, but eet wasn't much of anyting. CeCe revived it and came out as being bi."

Moving her food around the plate with her fork, Dina smiled. "She rounded up a bunch of new members and approved a die-in. The students laid down at the entrances with chalk outlines around their bodies. It was to raise awareness about how so many LGBT teens end up committing suicide because of bullying. They hosted a memorial-like thing that evening by the Art Institute, and almost half the school showed up." The smile grew. "CeCe had planned the entire thing, but she just works as the club's historian now." Dina gave a small laugh, her thumb rubbing the back of her boyfriend's hand as he began to unwind and smile at her. "She said being president was too much work."

Smiling, Gunther remembered the posters with a rainbow on it, advertising the Gay-Straight Alliance Club. He hadn't looked at it for long, not having wanted to think about those types of issues. Transgenderism was different from homosexuality, but the communities often stood together, such as in LGBTQA. Gunther hadn't wanted anything to remind him of his internal battle, but he had to wonder why CeCe hadn't said anything about what she'd done with the club.

"Kevin tried to crash the memorial," Deuce informed, looking calmer. He rubbed the right side of his face, fingers splayed so as to not to accidentally get sauce into his eyes. "Me and some of my cousins stopped him and his friends from getting close, and that's where my blackmail came in. Remember my threat?"

Gunther gave a nod.

"My cousin that followed him had sent me some good pics, one especially incriminating." He gave a small smirk that reinforced Gunther's thoughts that Deuce was not to be messed with or challenged. "I'll spare you the details on it for now, but it's _bad_. The deal is he and his friends stay away from Dina, CeCe, and the rest of us, or I send the picture to everyone in the _city_."

Tinka and Dina both got wicked smiles on their faces, both likely thinking the brute deserved it. Gunther sure thought so after hearing what had gone on.

"Sounds like CeCe did really good," Gunther said, picking up his Dr. Pepper. "Eet's surprising. I remember her being very lazy."

The other three chuckled, and Deuce replied, "Yeah, surprised all of us, but it's a good surprise. She'd never been someone that took crap." His eyes turned towards his plate, and he picked up one of the celery sticks. "Wish she'd spend more time with us, though. Still won't even talk about just what happened at that party. Kevin's rumor was that she kissed some other girl, and that seems to be the only thing true that ever came out of his mouth. But CeCe won't talk about it, and of course, Rocky hasn't really spoken to any of us since the beginning of junior year."

Dina heaved a sigh as she nodded. She then said, "Well, enough heavy stuff for now." She looked over at Tinka. "So, what are you and Ty gonna do for your date next weekend?"

Gunther began to cough, feeling like his Dr. Pepper had gone down the wrong pipe as Tinka froze in taking a bite of her pizza, eyes wide.

Catching onto the situation, Deuce began to guffaw. "Ha! Tinka, you might want to warn Ty to watch himself!"

_**For those that do not know: LGBTQA stands for "Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Queer (some say Questioning) and Ally (or some use the A to include Asexuals)". Anyway, hope you liked the chapter. :)**_


	7. Step towards Strength

**Chapter 7: Step towards Strength**

"_The antidote for fifty enemies is one friend." - Aristotle_

Seeing as Gunther had paid Ty fifty dollars to date Tinka once before, he probably couldn't be labeled as the most protective brother ever, but as Ty hadn't had any romantic interest in Tinka back then, Gunther hadn't been afraid of anything happening. Plus, he'd had his cousin Bobchka follow them just in case.

It was different now, though, and Gunther felt the need to pay Ty a visit against Tinka's groans and eye-rolls of protest.

Gloved hands in the pockets of his beige Burberry trench coat, Gunther headed for Ty's apartment complex, Gunther looked down, chin tucking into his plaid, fleece scarf. The cold January wind nipped at his cheeks, and Gunther pulled at his red ski cap to better cover his ears, which were close to becoming numb.

Once in the lobby of the complex, Gunther spotted CeCe heading towards the staircase. The building was old, so there were no elevators, something Gunther was sure CeCe must have complained about in the past.

"Hey," Gunther greeted, still shivering.

A heater in the corner, right in front of the front desk, was on full blast, the central heating system probably on the fritz if the redhead's overcoat (unbuttoned to show a bulging, scarlet pullover underneath); thick, knitted scarf; and furry pink hat with the furry gloves attached to the flaps by long strings were any indicator. Even the person working the front desk was bundled up to where Gunther couldn't tell whether the person was male or female.

Turning, CeCe lowered her multi-colored scarf (the colors were autumnal) from the lower part of her face to show a smile. "Hey! Here to see me, or did Tinka come out to you about Ty?"

Her tawny eyes sparkled in laughter, and she leaned against the wall as Gunther approached.

"Dee second one," he replied, sticking close to her side as they began to ascend the narrow staircase. "She does same with girls I go out with." He caught CeCe's look. "Danielle was an exception. She knew dat it would never last."

He laughed, remembering that cheerleader. He'd gone out with another girl before her, but she'd dumped him for being a push-over and had attempted to spread a nasty rumor about him (luckily it died very quickly, few people interested in it), and last Gunther had seen, she still took the long way around the school just to avoid running into Tinka.

CeCe gave a small laugh. "Yeah, people who think only brothers are protective haven't met enough sisters."

"So Flynn should be expecting to start yelling at you for scaring off girls?"

"Yep!" CeCe chimed in a proud tone. They walked a short way down the second landing to get to the staircase to get up to the third. "He'll be thirteen in May. He's had crushes before, but Mom's starting to get nervous. She has a strict 'no dating 'till sixteen' rule, but that won't stop Flynn from looking at girls or trying to go out with someone behind her back."

"Very true," Gunther chuckled, his smile somewhat strained at the mention of that rule.

He remembered Dina talking yesterday about CeCe's string of boyfriends, and he wondered how many of them Ms. Jones had actually known about. Single mother with an irregular work schedule, there were probably things going on at home that escaped her notice, but Gunther knew that it was hard to keep things from a parent for long.

"How come you didn't tell me you were an officer in the Gay-Straight Alliance Club?" he inquired as they approached the third landing.

"You never asked," CeCe replied in her usual fashion. "Guessing you heard about some of the shit that went down at the school. You'd think there'd be more people with open minds around here, but I don't think open or narrow minds really have anything to do with it." She shook her head, and they reached the third landing and stopped near 3B. "All I knew was it looked and felt like everyone was against me, like even if any of them _were_ against gay people, that wasn't the point. They saw two people getting beat down and thought it'd be fun to see how low they could be kicked."

"Sounds horrible…" Gunther wasn't sure what else to say.

Eyes on the ground, CeCe gave a nod as she exhaled slowly. "Yeah, it was bad. Real bad, and I finally decided to do something about it. You know Ms. Rayne?"

"Yeah, I have her for English."

"Cool woman, for a teacher. There have been rumors going around the school for years that she's a lesbian, and she was one of the few teachers that actually spoke up for me and Dina, tried to help us out." Arms crossed, CeCe seemed to be trying to make herself smaller. "I asked for help, and she agreed to be the faculty adviser for the club. I recruited people, but it was a long month or so with posters getting torn down or vandalized, more people harassing me and calling me names…, but eventually more and more people got enough courage to stand up with me." Her red lips curved into a soft smile, and her eyes rose to meet Gunther's again. "Think you might like to check it out one day?"

"Um…" Eyes moving away, Gunther immediately searched for an excuse, looking back at CeCe as she laughed.

"It's fine if you don't. Just saying you're free to come if you want. Times are on all the posters." Her eyes turned towards the floor for a moment again, expression turning flat as if thinking of something painful but not wanting anyone to be able to see it. "Well, Tinka's probably texted Ty by now." She tried for a humored smirk. "Don't make him sweat too much. He'll just end up turning into a Ty-sickle."

Gunther replied with a small laugh, wondering what CeCe had been thinking of. Possibly about Rocky, so he decided it best not to ask. She'd talk to him when she was ready.

"Yeah." Gunther nodded and turned towards the staircase. "See you."

"See ya."

CeCe checked the lock of her apartment before digging for her key, Gunther smiling as he headed up the stairs.

It didn't take long to find 4B, and as Ty answered barely five seconds after Gunther knocked, it was safe to assume he'd been waiting.

"Hey, Sparkles," the dark-haired twenty-one-year-old greeted with a smile, stepping to the side so the blond seventeen-year-old could get in. "Still missing your sparkles?"

Gunther couldn't muster the energy to make his chuckle sound real. "They'll probably be missing for a long time." He headed for the square, dark-wood table in the kitchen area when Ty motioned towards it. "How long have you _und_ Tinka been seeing each other?"

At the table was two-thirds of a pie, the top covered by what looked to be whipped cream and chocolate shavings. There were two plates, Gunther sitting where his back was to the counter and bar, facing the stove area, where Ty went to put a kettle over one of the front circles.

"Tea or coffee?"

"Coffee instant?" Gunther's eyebrows arched, lips tightening at the thought. Some called him prissy for it, but he'd never liked instant coffee. It never satisfied his tastes, succeeding only in filling his bladder.

"We have a coffee press. My dad brought back a brand he picked up while in Vietnam for Doctors without Borders," Ty informed. "Really strong, so I add concentrated milk. Dad says that's what they do there, 'cept it's usually iced." He laughed, tightening his dark blue scarf before getting a paper bag out of the freezer. "Pretty sure we'd freeze what with the heater broken again."

"That sounds good." Gunther helped himself to a slice of pie. He'd tried Mrs. Blue's lemon meringue before, and he'd loved it, trying and failing eight times to match the recipe. This one looked to be chocolate, and he was sure it'd taste amazing.

"Alright." Ty put the bag of coffee grounds back up after scooping a good amount into the French press, which he'd gotten from the cabinet. He then turned around, placing his gloved hands onto the granite countertop. "Tinka and I started hangin' out from time to time not long after she became friends with Dina. Taught me how to make food for myself without burnin' everything." He gave a chuckle, dark brown eyes on the black-and-white tiles of the floor. "We didn't actually start dating until May. Our first date was this memorial-type event at the Art Institute. She tell you 'bout that?"

"She, Dina, and Deuce told me about what had happened at the school."

Ty nodded. "Terrible. Sounds bad what with CeCe and Dina had to go through, but I was glad my baby sis didn't get caught up in all that mess."

"I was thinking the same ting of Tinka." Gunther took a bite of the pie. "Looks like tings have gone down, though."

"Yeah. Guess at a certain point, enough people finally see the pranks as being cruel instead of fun." He looked at the kettle as the sound of water beginning to boil began to fill the area. "That or they saw CeCe's club as becoming 'the new thing' instead or just got bored keeping up the 'jokes'." He shrugged and went over to the pantry. "Just reminds me how happy I am to be out. Anyway, I've already gone to your dad for permission. Tinka said I didn't have to, but I wanted to be respectable, ya know?"

Gunther nodded, watching as Ty retrieved a can of condensed milk. "Dat's good. Tinka needs someone willing to respect our customs."

"I've gone to all my past girlfriends' fathers before asking them on an official date. It was actually the reason one of them broke up with me a day later." Ty got out a can opener. "I'm all for feminism, but I was bein' polite, not treating her like property."

As Gunther opened his mouth, the door opened, and he turned to see Rocky coming in, pausing in the doorway when she saw there was company. Her unpainted lips were parted, and her thick chocolate-colored hair still board-straight and hanging around her round face like a veil. She wore a black quilted puffer coat, faux fur-lined hood down. A grey-and-purple knit cap was in her left hand, and her dark purple scarf was draped over her shoulders, coat zipped up to the top of her neck.

"Oh," she said, taking a step in and slowly closing the door without taking her brown eyes off of Gunther. "Hey."

"Hi," Gunther replied with a small smile.

"Want coffee?" asked Ty, taking his sister's eyes away from Gunther. "Tea? We're outta hot chocolate."

"No," Rocky replied quickly, pulling her dark violet tote bag closer to her body. "Thank you." She started to head towards the rooms. "I have a lot of homework, and I still have to fill out those applications."

With a sigh, Ty turned off the oven and poured the hot water into the French press. "I swear, she's applyin' to just about every college in the country _outside_ Illinois."

"She alright?" Gunther inquired after swallowing another bite of pie.

Bringing the press and glass mugs to the table, Ty made a head motion impossible to distinguish between a nod and shake. "Keeps sayin' she's just busy with work, but I'm sure it has to do with that party two years ago. Didn't take long for me to piece together a rough draft of what happened." He went back to the counter to retrieve the open can of condensed milk and a couple of teaspoons. "She doesn't want to talk about it to anyone. Gets me worried."

"I would be as vell," Gunther replied with a nod, accepting one of the mugs. "I hope tings go alright."

"Thanks." Ty covered the bottom of his mug with a spoonful of concentrated milk. "So how was Paris?"

Gunther thought of Rocky, the secrets she was hiding, wanting to think of how she felt but very likely terrified of what she might discover. He thought of CeCe, taking time to admit what she had already discovered, bring it into the light for all to see, and use it to set in motion a movement for some peace at the school and peace of mind for those that had seen her and Dina tortured and had feared repercussions for standing up for them.

He remembered his terror thinking if anyone could somehow look at him and realize what was going on in his head. The terror from first telling Tinka, to thinking about finally telling his parents. The terror, always blanketed by shame, held up by anxiety, and waiting for that whirlwind of depression, which always waiting to bulldoze him over. Soon, Gunther might not be able to get back up from the damage, not with everything else covering him, holding him down with force that slowly, continually, drained him of all his strength each day and leaving him exhausted each night.

Still, Gunther was used to making the corners of his mouth turn up even the message sent was the biggest lie ever told.

"Tell me about your idea for dis date, first."


	8. Cruel Waves

**Chapter 8: Cruel Waves**

"_Depression is the most unpleasant thing I have ever experienced. . . . It is that absence of being able to envisage that you will ever be cheerful again. The absence of hope. That very deadened feeling, which is so very different from feeling sad. Sad hurts but it's a healthy feeling. It is a necessary thing to feel. Depression is very different." - J.K. Rowling_

"_Sit still, Gunther!"_

_Tinka always slipped into German, the language used in Mächtiginnerste, the region their mother was from._

_The two had suck into their parents' room, and Gunther was sitting on the stool in front of Anya's vanity (three thick books were between him and the plush seat so he could be tall enough to look into the mirror). He had one of his mother's high-heeled shoes on, the other having fallen off his tiny foot, and his eyes were squeezed shut as his twin sister picked up various brushes and wands, spreading powders and creams over her brother's face to make him pretty._

"_It tickles!" Gunther giggled. He wiggled, hoping he wouldn't end up making the books fall and him with them. "Tinka, you sure you know what you're doing?"_

"_Yeah!" exclaimed Tinka with confidence. "Now be still! I'm almost done!"_

_Apa was away to help Adam Batchi with setting up his shop, and Baba was taking a nap while Anya cooked lunch (hopefully it would be yummy this time). Gunther and Tinka had been playing house, but Tinka had wanted to be the mommy for once. Anya had stepped in when the twins had begun to shout at each other, telling them that if they were fighting over one game, then they should play another. Tinka had then suggested dress-up, so once Anya had gone back to the kitchen, the two five-year-olds suck past the swinging door (propped open) into their parents' room for the game._

The talk with Ty had been nice. The coffee had, indeed, been very strong, so Gunther had added a couple teaspoons of condensed milk, and he thought that if anyone should be able to date his sister, Ty was a good choice. He liked to act like a player, which would have been a strike against him if Gunther hadn't known it was only an act. Ty was actually very respectful and loyal to his girlfriends, and Gunther had laughed when Ty told him he'd had to change his 'game' later on in high school when girls dumped him for being _too_ nice when she'd been expecting a bad boy.

He'd also learned Ty was enrolled in a four-year college, and after many long talks with his father (who still wanted him to become a doctor), he finally decided to double-major in music and psychology. Mr. Blue had been hoping more for his son working on the body rather than the mind one day, but he finally agreed it was a good choice after remembering Ty's test scores in biology and anatomy in high school.

Gunther had left the apartment several minutes after Mrs. Blue came home, and he now lay on his bed, the clock on his nightstand ticking as the hour hand grew closer to the ten. Tonight was one of those nights where he just felt wide awake, Morpheus very far off while everyone else in the apartment was either already under the spell or close to it.

Eyes on the ceiling and Mut curled up on his chest, Gunther found himself unable to do anything but let his mind wander. He thought of his conversation with Ty, but his mind also kept wandering back to that day when he was five, he and Tinka playing dress-up with their mother's clothes and make-up.

_Tinka hitched up the multi-layered skirt of the crew neck dress as she made her way to the other side of the gold-and-red stool, wobbling in the high-heeled ankle boots she'd thought were so pretty—glittery silver soles and heels and metallic purple-colored leather._

_Gunther wore a batwing dress that was powder blue and met Anya's knees when she wore it but covered Gunther's feet. It was his mother's plainest dress, but he loved the color, though he thought he should have chosen different shoes—the glittery red heels had reminded him of Dorothy's shoes in the movie that had come on the TV last week._

"_Done!" Tinka sang with one last sweep of the wand over her brother's right eyelid._

_At the exclamation, Gunther opened his eyes, laughing at his reflection. Tinka had used too much of the foundation, small globs here and there as well as some powder collected along his nose and hairline. Some of the pink-red lipstick was smeared too far to the left and covered part of the dip right above his top lip, and the blue and pink eye shadow was thick on his lids, going up to his eyebrows and reminding him of cotton candy. There was also too much blush on his cheeks, making them look almost as red as cherries._

"_Like it!" _

_Tinka had too much confidence to think the answer could be anything but "Yes." _

"_Yeah!" Gunther jumped down to the floor and put the red heels back on. "Your turn!"_

There had been times in the past when Tinka and Gunther had switched clothing to see if they could trick their parents (they had been either three or four before Kashlack ordered them to stop, no longer thinking it cute), and Gunther had always loved wearing his sister's clothing. He'd dance around while wearing her skirts and dresses, and it had been him that first suggested the dance lessons. Tinka had simply made it sound like it'd been her idea, saying she only wanted to go if Gunther went with her.

Blowing air out slowly, Gunther stroked his cat's soft fur, trying to quiet his mind. However, sleep was still very far off, even when he closed his eyes.

_Smiling ear to ear, Tinka fixed the books and climbed up to sit on the top one, feet kicking back and forth in excitement. "Ready!"_

_Tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, Gunther got to work, spreading foundation over his sister's face, trying to make sure he did so evenly. He ended up getting some in Tinka's hair, which was pulled back in a tight ponytail by a large, silver bow. She tried to keep her bow-shaped lips pressed together as she giggled, and Gunther couldn't help but giggle as well as he grabbed the largest of the brushes to spread pale peach-colored powder over Tinka's face. He then put the blush on her, laughing when he realized he'd made the same mistake as Tinka and had put on too much._

"_Do you think we could do this every day if we lived in the castle?" asked Tinka._

_Anya and Apa had told them both the story of their marriage, the banishment, and how Anya's younger brother ended up becoming the next-in-line. Tinka and Gunther both loved the story, thinking it like one of the fairytales in their books._

"_We'd be the prettiest princesses!" responded Gunther with a big smile._

"_Yes, we would!" Tinka agreed._

_As Gunther dipped a smaller make-up wand into a square of pink powder, the door swung open, both children jumping in surprise._

"What_ is going on in here?" Anya demanded, light green eyes wide and thin eyebrows arched high._

"_Um…" Gunther moved to hide behind his sister, remembering how he'd been yelled at for trying to wear Tinka's tutu to dance lessons at Fancy Nancy's._

"_We're playing dress up!" Tinka said excitedly, though Gunther could tell she was worried about getting into trouble as well._

"_Katinka Eszti Hessenheffer, go into the living room and wait there until I come get you," Anya commanded, stepping aside so there'd be room to pass through the doorway._

_Without argument, Tinka scurried out of the room as quickly as she could manage, only flashing Gunther a short worried look before going down the short hallway._

Opening his eyes again, Gunther's thoughts then turned towards that dark, dank place he always fought to keep away from. It was a place that pulled him in with a force he imagined could only be bested by a black hole. He called them "waves", always picturing himself on a cliff, hearing the waves throwing themselves against the rock below. For whatever reason, Gunther found himself edging closer and closer towards the cliff's edge, not even realizing it until only his fingers gripped the sharp, ragged edge keeping him above those ominous waters.

Once at that edge, it never took much for him to finally fall, plunging deep and the pain of the impact rattling his brain and nerves. It was cold, the temperature constantly dropping as he tried to gather enough thoughts to remember which way was up and which was down.

Deep in those waters, Gunther's limbs flailed uselessly, lungs feeling as if they'd been abruptly filled with cement, slamming against the walls. He didn't remember ever breathing in the freezing water—he didn't even remember _how_ to breathe. All he could do was lay there, hoping he might be allowed to float back up to the surface and meet the air once more.

So far, he hadn't drowned completely, but the threat was always there. The waves whispered things Gunther refused to believe could come from his own mind. He didn't want to think he consciously thought any of those things; he didn't want to think he consciously _did_ any of those things. It was those waves that were to blame, the freezing waters that always tried to pull him deeper.

Somehow, he always managed to climb back up to the top of the cliff, but he could never leave it and say good-bye to those waves for good. He wanted to, but he just couldn't, and he hated himself for it.

_Anya shut the door behind her and pointed at the mahogany trunk at the foot of the king-sized bed pushed against the wall opposite of the vanity. Gunther immediately went there and pulled himself up to sit atop the trunk as his mother pushed the books off of the stool and sat down, smoothing her long, bright green skirt as she did so._

"_Gunther Kazimír Hessenheffer…," she began, thin arms crossing over her chest._

_Gunther flinched at the use of his full name._

"_Why in God's name would you let your sister put you into my clothes and put on my make-up?" Her words were slow and even, the small boy knowing she wanted to yell but was stopping herself from doing so._

_Unable to meet his mother's eyes, Gunther murmured something, hands gripping at the edge of the trunk._

"_What was that?"_

_Blinking rapidly as his eyes begun to sting, Gunther repeated a little more loudly, "I want to be pretty like you."_

_Eyebrows arching again, Anya's anger seemed to be melting into confusion. "Excuse me?"_

_The make-up smeared as Gunther wiped away a couple of tears that escaped. "You're always really pretty, and I wanted to be pretty too. Tinka thought of dress-up, but I wanted to come in here. Am I in trouble, Anya?"_

_Hands pressing against her face on either side of her narrow-bridged nose and moving to either side of her square-shaped face. "Not this time Gunther," she said after a while with a sigh. "Just take off those clothes and wash all that off your face before Apa gets home. I also do not want you playing dress-up again, okay?"_

_Wiping more tears away, Gunther nodded. "Yes, Anya."_

Eyes squeezed shut, Gunther took deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. His breaths shook, and Mut stirred and sat up. She then jumped off his chest and walked around to the side of Gunther's head, and she made a small sound that was like a cross between a meow and chirp. Mut rubbed her head against her human's cheek, making that sound repeatedly.

Barely noticing the calico, Gunther tried to escape the waves, but it was impossible to tell how long he'd be there. It was impossible to tell when he was about to fall. All he'd notice is being rammed into by feelings of deep despair that always tried to drag him deeper and deeper. It was like a current, pulling him even harder the more he fought.

Now, he just let himself get thrown about by the waves, just praying he'd be allowed to be free soon. In the meantime, the dark whispers gradually grew into hisses and shouts.

Sinful.

Freak.

Useless.

Bound for hell.

Should die.

No one will care.

Selfish to keep living.

Hated.

Waste of space.

On and on, and the tears began to spill, Gunther clenching his teeth as his breathing continued to shake. He couldn't let his crying become audible. He couldn't worry Tinka and Baba in the next room, and he _definitely_ couldn't let Kashlack and Squitza think anything was wrong. He had to suffer alone, but it hurt so much. A part of his mind that cried against the waves' accusations screamed for support. Screamed for Gunther to call out for someone.

Rubbing up against her human, Mut's noise began to sound increasingly worried, and Gunther raised a trembling hand to pet her.

"I am okay," Gunther whispered to himself in German.

His words did not sound sincere, but he remembered Ol'ga talking about something called affirmation. She'd said it was better to say something positive and to say it in the present tense. She'd heard it from a friend, and she'd told Gunther that if he was depressed (she'd been very perceptive, even if she'd never come out directly about it), it'd be better to say "I am happy" or "I am okay" rather than "I _will_ be happy" or "okay."

The "will" put it into the future, the brain deciding it wasn't happening yet, whereas putting it in the present set things in motion for it to happen.

"I am okay," he whispered again, voice a little more stable.

Mut plopped down with her head on Gunther's neck, purring and rubbing up against him as if to remind him that he had someone that cared.

"I am okay."

The waves still screamed, the words getting harsher and harsher. Gunther momentarily thought about waking up Tinka; he knew she wouldn't complain about helping Gunther out of the water chilling him to the bone. Yet, he didn't want to disturb her, the waves yelling about how he didn't deserve her support—that he was selfish to even _think_ about bothering her about these problems.

So Gunther just lay there for hours, and once he clawed himself out of the waters and back to the top of the cliff, sleep finally came, his body spent of all energy.

**_Thank you to all those that are following this story, and thank you to WinterFairy7337 and SmallKitsuneFlame for giving such kind words in your reviews in response to what was said by the anonymous reviewer going by "Stop". :)_**

**_As to what 'Stop' said: Why exactly should I stop writing this? It's an honest question, really. I'm genuinely curious. Your wording makes it sound like you're trying to appeal to emotion, the equivalent of the stereotypical scene of a bully leering down at the little nerd, demanding lunch money. However, that's not an argument, and I tend to be more an analytical thinker. If you're trying to make a case, you need to state first what it is you want (which you've done, so well done on that part), and then you state logical arguments to hold up the first statement and explain why it is correct or, in this case, the best course of action._**

**_Anyway, I hope everyone else is enjoying the story! :)_**


	9. Talking

**Chapter 9: Talking**

"_It is important that students bring a certain ragamuffin, barefoot irreverence to their studies; they are not here to worship what is known, but to question it." - Jacob Bronowski_

Door open a crack, Gunther could hear Mut and Thirteen, Tinka's cat, playing in the living room. Face in his hands, Gunther sat at his desk, laptop open and screensaver coming on. A series of pictures flashed across the screen when it had been an open document just moments ago. His history and English teachers had been merciful, both giving him work he could do along with his usual work load so he wouldn't have as much to work on this summer (they blamed the school for screwing up his credits too). He already had enough credits for science, and it wasn't possible to get ahead in math. It was fine, and Gunther felt like he'd taken on too much as it was.

He currently had an essay that was due on Friday, and Ms. Rayne had already announced that she would be handing out the guidelines for the research paper that would be due in May at the beginning of class on Monday. Gunther had absolutely no idea what he could write his research paper on, but that was the reason the guidelines were being given out now; there would be a three-week period where the students could bring up thesis ideas to Ms. Rayne, which she would have written down if the thesis was approved.

At the moment, however, Gunther needed to find two-thousand words (minimum) for his essay on _Paradise Lost_, and there were six prompts to choose from. Gunther had decided to speak about Eve, her role in dooming humanity, and whether or not Adam's reaction was appropriate or not—whether it seemed like Milton blamed Adam as much as Eve if not more. Gunther had basically skimmed the entire thing, and this was the scene he remembered most.

Ms. Rayne had added a suggestion in the prompt to look at "Eve's Apology in Defense of Women" by Aemilia Lanyer and using the poem in the essay, and Gunther had his text book open to the page with that poem, sticky notes all over the page with his handwriting illegible to all but him.

Tinka was out with Ty, their destination dinner at an Italian restaurant (Ty remembered Tinka saying she had always wanted to visit Rome, Venice, and Milan), followed by dessert at a very nice café that had been suggested by his roommate.

Over coffee, Ty had given Gunther all the details of the date, saying he was actually excited when most other girls he'd dated would have found such plans cheesy or even worth complaining about.

That had made Gunther chuckle, knowing that Tinka had always been a romantic, gushing about bouquets of roses, candle-lit dinners, and dancing to either classical music or smooth jazz. She had been over the moon after her first date with Ty (even though she'd known the whole time Gunther was behind it), going on and on about how Ty had been a wonderful dancer and how the saxophone had sounded so lovely. She'd even said something about how lovely the moon had been even though Gunther remembered it having been overcast that night.

Getting lost in his thoughts about wondering how much his twin was enjoying her date, Gunther barely noticed the **ping** coming from his laptop, alerting him to a new message. He almost always had his Skype open, seeing as there was little chance of being interrupted when half of those on his contact list were usually asleep when he was awake or vice versa.

Bringing his Skype to the front of the screen, Gunther saw that it was CeCe.

**how goes it?** she had typed.

Gunther went back to his paper and saved what he had before going back to the message to give his response: **Church was long as usual. Tinka's out on her date now, and I'm procrastinating on an essay.**

As the small image of a pencil moved, Gunther looked over at his textbook. Soon, though, the alert of the sent message came:

**arent all church services long? lol yeah im procrastinating on my history project and math hw and a bunch of other stuff. whoever said comps would make us more productive didnt know just wut ppl would do with the invention. and im surprised you arent following them lol**

Looked like those that had claimed computers would make people more productive also hadn't foreseen text-speak. Gunther smirked at his own joke, but he was glad to see CeCe's wasn't as bad as some people's.

**I'm Eastern Orthodox**, typed Gunther. **If the priest can find a way to say something in the most long-winded way possible, he does, lol. I'm not shocked you're procrastinating on all your work, and Tinka made me promise I wouldn't follow or HAVE them followed.**

**do i want to know?**

**I paid Ty $50 a few years ago to take Tinka on a date since she really wanted to go on one, and I had one of our cousins follow them just in case. **

Gunther remembered Tinka telling him that she figured out what had happened when she spotted Bobchka and confronted him when she'd excused herself from Ty, telling him she had to use the restroom.

**lol! well tinkas prob got a keeper. ty's 1 of the few guys that wouldnt complain about watching a chick flick. hed prob even SUGGEST it lol**

Gunther chuckled at that and was about to respond when he saw the little pencil moving again. He sat back and waited until the message popped up:

**sumthing i want to say but idk about saying it on here…**

At school on Friday when CeCe had asked for Gunther's Skype name, he'd warned her that his parents checked all his e-mails and Skype and Facebook archives, and if he got a cellphone, they'd be checking the text message history on that as well. (He also wouldn't put it past them to find some app that would record all of his calls.)

Pulling his right foot up so the ankle rested on his left knee, Gunther waited as the pencil image kept scribbling. Then:

**i was gonna tell you when you were in the building but i wasnt sure but its been bothering me and i need to say sumthing. cafe in 15?**

Remembering back to when Gunther had gone to see Ty, he recalled that look on CeCe's face as she had looked towards the floor as if in contemplation. He had assumed that look had something to do with Rocky, but now he was unsure, and he agreed to the meeting, CeCe giving her thanks before going off-line.

After saving what he had of his English and history essays onto a flash drive, Gunther got a red pullover, getting it over his long-sleeved, tan shirt with darker brown stitching at the hems. He then got on the rest of his layers, finally pulling on a chullo hat Tinka had knitted for him as he left his room, almost having Mut run into his leg.

The tortoiseshell cat was playing what almost seemed like tag with Thirteen, a short-haired black cat that was a little bigger than his sibling. Gunther smiled at them as Mut leapt onto the table and ran across Apa's laptop, making the man scowl and swear.

"Damn cats," he muttered in their dialect, Katka snickering in the corner as she sewed. "This is why I wanted a dog, a big one, but no… there has to be than damn 'under seven pounds' rule."

"I'm going out," Gunther announced, heading for the door.

"Where to?" inquired Squitza as she entered the room, apron stained with sauce and splatters from times she'd made soup. "Tinka doesn't want you following her."

"Coffeehouse to meet a friend," Gunther responded as Kashlack murmured something about how he wouldn't mind his son breaking that promise once in a while.

"Will you be back for dinner or no?" asked Anya. Usually, she preferred to have the family together for dinner, but since Tinka was out anyway, she seemed not to mind much if everyone was at the table tonight or not. She was likely just heating up leftovers anyway.

"Probably not. Would you like me to pick up anything while I'm out?"

"That's alright." Squitza gave a smile. "Have fun, Gunther."

"Thank you. See you later, Anya, Apa Baba."

Squitza and Kashlack both waved as Baba gave a smile and nod, eyes lifting from her sewing for a moment. There were various times where it seemed her mind would slip, the old woman getting lost in memories of her past. She could romanticize or demonize the past whenever the time called for one lesson or another—telling Gunther and Tinka to remember their roots and keep up their wonderful culture in their hearts even if they were far from that home, or showing the twins just how good they had it compared to way back when.

Still, Baba's bright blue eyes sometimes had that gleam like now, where she seems to be saying she knows just what's going on and is there any time Gunther is willing to talk.

Taking a breath, Gunther left the apartment, heading down the hall towards the staircase—since they lived on the second floor, he didn't see any point in using the elevator. He loved Baba, and she had been the one trying to calm down Apa and Anya when Tinka had been sent to her room. Still, Gunther wasn't sure about talking about any of this to her. It would just be too awkward.

CeCe was seated in one of the plush chairs in the back of the café, her coffee in a large mug, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and tiny chocolate chips spilling over when she took a sip. She looked up when Gunther walked in, putting down the mechanical pencil she held in her other hand to motion towards the counter. She wanted Gunther to get himself something; they'd be here for a while.

The line wasn't too long, and when Gunther got to the front, he ordered a hazelnut latte after the perky barista regretfully told him that they were out of gingerbread flavor until next Christmas season. He then went to the back to the chair next to CeCe's, a small, low table between the two burgundy seats. The redhead didn't look up when he sat down, doing something Gunther had never before witnessed her do: Homework.

"You have to multiply the denominator with both so that de square root vill cancel out," he informed when she begun to tap her pencil against a corner of the page.

CeCe immediately took the advice, tapping in the numbers into the calculator on her phone. She then wrote it down and paused as if taking a moment to make sure she wrote it down correctly.

"Thanks," she sighed, leaning back.

"Do not tank me yet," Gunther chuckled as the small girl picked up her coffee. "You still have to reduce the fraction."

"Oh goddammit," mumbled CeCe into her whipped cream. She went back to work, Gunther's latte arriving when CeCe finally finished the problem, checking back over it at least three times, pencil moving slowly over each number as she did so.

"Thank you," Gunther told the barista, taking the large mug of coffee.

"You're welcome!" sang the tall girl, her brown eyes dancing before she turned to head back to her post.

With a heavy sigh, CeCe closed the notebook. "Mom only let me out when I promised to bring my math homework with me. Whose bright idea was it to put square roots in fractions anyway? Whose bright idea was it to torture us with math in the _first_ _place_?!"

Gunther laughed at that before taking a sip of his coffee. He had never particularly enjoyed math either, though he was good enough at it to pull either a high C or low B with minimal effort.

"Whatever. I've been showing more effort this time, so Mr. Rothburne usually lets me turn homework in a little late." After sticking the three-subject notebook with dog and horse stickers on the pink cover, CeCe caught Gunther's look. "Oh, right, you don't know. I kept it quiet for a long time 'cause it embarrassed me, but compared to everything that's happened, it's not a big deal. I'm dyslexic, so reading, writing, and math is tougher for me than other kids. Sometimes it even messes with how I hear what people say, but that's not as bad as it was when I was little."

"Ah." Gunther gave a nod. "If you remember Klaus"—the shiver at his name said she did—"he has the same problem. His words get mixed up from time to time as vell, and it actually vasn't until he was almost eleven he could even read more than a few words in a sentence. He still has a lot of trouble and goes to a tutor, and dat's why he was alvays acting out."

"Yeah, I was always acting out as a kid. Mom signed me up for dance to get out my 'excess energy'." CeCe smiled. "What about Klaus?"

"Art," said Gunther with pride. "He's gotten into painting, and he's _really_ good. He says he doesn't feel bad about not being able to read the stories anymore. Art tells eet better, and it's different every time you see it, so you never get bored."

CeCe's smile grew. "That's how I always felt about dancing."

Gunther nodded. It had always been hard for him to put emotions to words. That was what dance had been for. Frustration, isolation, anger, pain… Dance was his meditation and therapy. The passion in his movements lifted the heaviness from his shoulders. Even if it was only for a few minutes, it was what had kept him from getting crushed from under that weight throughout his years.

After taking another sip from his latte, Gunther inquired, "So what vas eet you wanted to talk about?"

The smile suddenly turned strained, and CeCe began to play with the fishtail braid her hair was in. "My mom worked a case some days ago," she began in a low voice, eyes on the wood floor.

Sitting up in his chair, Gunther waited for her to continue.

"A guy was found…" Her eyes closed, and she leaned forward in a way as if starting to feel sick. "In his closet… It was a suicide, but there was a short investigation just to be sure, since their apartment had been targeted for cruel pranks." She took another deep breath and swallowed. "The guy had been bullied too. He… he hung himself."

Trembling slightly, Gunther took one of CeCe's hands, not knowing what else to do.

"I'm not sure why I'm this upset." Her voice shook, and she shook her head vigorously. "Yeah, I do, but I didn't know this guy. He went to a private school in Lakeview. It's just…"

"Vat is it?"

Again, CeCe took a deep breath before sitting up to look at Gunther. "Whenever I think about him, I keep seeing you."


	10. Light of Spirit

**Chapter 10: Light of Spirit**

"_There is a tendency to see divine intervention in things that happen in the normal course of miracles." - Robert Brault_

It had first seemed as though Gunther's heart had stopped upon hearing those words, but when it suddenly slammed against his ribcage before it began to ping through his chest before getting stuck in his throat, he realized it had merely been getting a running start.

How was it CeCe knew? Yes, he'd practically poured out his soul the first time they were here when skipping first period last week, but he'd never gone _near_ the subject of his depression. As for any attempts or self-mutilation… he rarely ever went near that subject with himself. He couldn't talk about it with anyone else.

He still remembered that heat-of-the-moment instant with a razor and his leg. He knew there was a large artery there, and he had thought maybe he would bleed out, but if he didn't, any scars would be hidden from view.

However, he hadn't actually been set on taking his own life then—right? He'd just wanted to do _something_. Cause himself _some_ form of harm. He still wasn't quite sure what exactly his reasoning had been, but upon seeing all that blood and feeling the sharp, stinging pain that shot through the inner part of his leg and throughout his thigh, he had immediately changed his mind.

He had kept thinking about how angry Tinka would be with him if she found out about this. He had kept thinking about his mother's tears and his father's hard stare as he tried not to let himself shed a tear and simply be there for his wife, daughter, and mother.

He had mopped up the blood to where no evidence of the action was left after tying off his leg, the bleeding finally coming to a stop after almost fifteen minutes. The scar was still there, large and three shades paler than the surrounding skin.

Gunther hadn't talked about that or any other time with _anyone_. How on earth could CeCe "The Airhead" Jones have figured it out? Had she seen something in Gunther's eyes that day? Heard it in his voice? She had already shown herself to have more insight than others usually gave her credit for.

Picking up her large mug, CeCe stared at the whipped cream while speaking softly: "Mom doesn't usually bring files home, and I definitely don't usually ask about any cases she works, especially one like this. I can get a little squeamish sometimes." She tried for a chuckle, but it came out flat, and she set her mug back onto its saucer on the small table between her and Gunther.

Leaning forward, she pulled her bright red bubble coat off of her book bag and onto her lap, playing with the hood with faux-fur lining. CeCe played with the hood, staring at it as she continued: "But she brought this file home, and while she was in the shower, I don't know. I just had this huge urge to read it, like when something on a blog site or whatever says _Spoiler Alert: Do Not Click_ and I just _have_ to click."

The chuckle came out more easily this time, though the sound was hollow. "Anyway, the guy had cuts, another reason why it was investigated. I didn't ask my mom about it, because I didn't want her to know I was snooping through her stuff, but it was thought the guy was sexually assaulted at some point until it was determined that the cuts had been self-inflicted."

The girl's tone was cold, almost glacial. Her eyes were blank as she stared at her coat, like she was putting as much will and discipline as she could muster to push back her emotions behind a steel wall. It looked as if she thought she might shatter otherwise. The way she stared, eyes shining, it was like she was mentally screaming at herself to keep any tears from spilling over her pale cheeks. She was pallid, fingers trembling as they grasped at the crimson material.

Gunther didn't need to be told where the cuts had been. It was already painfully obvious, and it was something he had once (maybe even twice or thrice) thought of but had never gone through with.

Or… he couldn't have.

A scar (not nearly as large as the one on his leg but still there) and images he wanted to swear came only from nightmares begged to differ. It had only been a thought. A thought he refused to revisit.

There was nothing Gunther could think of to say to this, which made him thankful that CeCe finally started speaking again after glancing back at her mocha, as if wondering on whether she would be able to stomach it right now or not:

"I can't stand the thought of you possibly ending up like that." The tone stayed cold, but there was a crack near the end, like the emotions were pounding against that steel wall, coming close to breaking it down. "Of anyone ending up like that, really, but…" Her scarlet nails dug into the coat. "I know we've never been close. It's weird we've even talked about all the stuff we have, but I still care." The cracking got worse, and CeCe began to blink rapidly.

Opening his mouth, Gunther prepared to say something, his heart picking up speed, almost humming within his chest.

However, he had no idea what words should come out, and CeCe started speaking again after clearing her throat.

"You've already told me a lot, so you don't need to tell me more unless you want to, but I just want you to know this: I _really_ can't stand the thought of you doing anything like that. I can't. It hurts so many people, and you don't just feel sad. You feel angry. Like you've been slapped in the face, but then you feel guilty for feeling angry, and you feel even sadder, and then you feel angry again for them making you feel this way, which gives you more guilt…" Her voice had cracked to the point of being barely more than a squeak as she spoke, shoulders trembling.

Again, Gunther had no idea what else to do but reach over for one of CeCe's hands. It still clutched the hood, but its grip slowly loosened as Gunther's fingers glided over its smooth skin in gentle circles.

"And you keep wondering over and over what else you could have done, what more you could have given." Tears streaked CeCe's reddening cheeks at a fast rate. "You go over every single conversation, every meeting, trying to search for _anything_… Wondering if you could have stopped it. Wondering if you should have gone to someone sooner…"

CeCe's hand now grasped Gunther's, the boy wondering just who had passed away and left the usually-fiery redhead like this. He couldn't remember ever seeing her cry, and he was unsure of how to help even though that was all he currently wanted to do.

The two sat there in silence for several minutes, CeCe taking deep breaths as she tried to reign in her emotions. After she wiped away the tears on the sleeve of her magenta pullover, she let go of Gunther's hand as well as her coat, picking at the polish on her left thumb before going to take a sip from her mocha.

"Tinking of Tinka always stopped me," murmured Gunther after CeCe set her mug down. "I knew she vould never forgive me."

There had always been so many thoughts, swirling through him in a storm that could never be calmed. There had always been those questions: "What if? What if?" They'd repeat over and over, spinning along all the others to where none of the words could really be picked out anymore. Only snippets were left after the storm had leveled everything, those leftover questions lying around like the rest of the debris.

_Would they really be so upset if I did it?_

_What if Tinka ended up discovering my body?_

_How selfish am I to even consider this?_

Those questions always pushed him towards the edge of the cliff again as if trying to quicken the vicious cycle and finally have Gunther drown once and for all.

CeCe picked up her mocha again, sipping at the melting whipped cream. "Based on what I know about her, I agree."

It was nice seeing those bow-shaped lips curve into a tiny smile. She had always seemed so confident, so sure of herself and what it was she wanted. Tinka used to think CeCe was just one of those people that got everything she wanted out of life without having to work hard for any of it. Sometimes it seemed as if Life just handpicked various people to carry a golden light around them that attracted Luck and Fortune. Within the past couple years, though, that light had either dulled, or Life had taken it back.

Or maybe that golden light was just all in the minds of those looking from afar. Working through dyslexia, probably having to take on more housework than others due to her mother's work schedule, and then the bullying and reforming the Gay-Alliance Club at school…

CeCe worked for what she had. Until more recently, it had just been to where those on the outside hadn't been able to see, simply giving her the illusion of that golden light bringing everything to her on a silver platter.

There was no magical light, Gunther knew when he looked into those bright brown eyes full of pain that was constantly being morphed into spirit as fiery as her hair.

"I tink I am glad you told me dis." Gunther's words were slow, like he was twelve again, learning the language. "Um, grateful, not glad maybe." He took a short sip from his latte. "This vas someting I needed to hear."

The smile grew slightly, and Gunther noticed she wasn't wearing quite as much make-up as she did at school, her lips a more muted pink color. "I thought it might, but I wasn't really sure. Like I said, I usually don't ask my mom about her work, and I tune her out a lot when she tells stories at dinner. I wasn't going to look at the file, but… I just got a… gut feeling I guess."

"Gut feelings do not come from novere." Gunther took another sip of his coffee, thinking of Ol'ga.

While herding the goats one morning with Domonkos and Adam in the lead, Ol'ga and Gunther pulling up the rear, he remembered the then-thirteen-year-old girl with grey-blue eyes telling him about a time she had helped save Domonkos's life.

The boy had fallen when going off by himself years ago and had ended up unconscious, and Ol'ga had gotten a gut feeling to head to that very place for a walk. She'd found him and had immediately gotten help. She had told Gunther that she believed the "gut feeling" had been God's way of telling her to go there. She believed that what people called intuition was the Holy Spirit leading them.

"_But intuition isn't always right," Gunther argued, noticing the slight quirk in his cousin's thin lips at his accent when he spoke the dialect._

_While back in Chicago, his accent, which rarely anyone could place, was often something to joke about, the people here found his accent too American-sounding. He was between worlds, standing out no matter where he went._

"_That is our fault," replied Ol'ga, picking up her feet more as they began to pass through higher grass, still damp from the rain two days ago._

_The rolling hills and mountains were beautiful, but it made walking more difficult for the boy that had gotten used to the flatter paths of sidewalks in the city. Just another thing that earned him a place as an outsider in a country that still mostly followed many of the traditions that had been in place for centuries._

_Fixing the high ponytail her dark blonde hair was pulled up into, Ol'ga continued: "When we're so unused to following intuition, we often get it mixed up with other thoughts. For instance: Is God telling you to talk to someone? Or do you just want to and are using God as an excuse or afterthought?"_

Gunther wasn't sure how much he believed about God or the Holy Spirit. A simple gut feeling didn't seem like anything even close to any sort of proof of a higher power, but Gunther still sometimes found comfort in the feeling that there was a god smiling down on him, offering help and love even if no one else would.

Yet, the thought of God also distressed the boy, or, the way he had been taught to think of God. The judgmental god that had a huge list of 'Do's' and 'Don't's' was the more common image he got. The god that was ready to strike him down from straying off the path his gatekeeper father had set for him and his sister.

Tinka was more like Ol'ga, though she tended to have more doubts about their religion only Gunther (and possibly Ty further down the line) was allowed to hear. Religion and spirituality was just something that always came up with the twins, the two always talking long after their parents and grandmother had fallen asleep. They would discuss and debate, throwing different ideas into the air, often switching languages as they spoke, laughing or pretending to get mad at one comment or another.

What did CeCe think of such things? She hadn't mentioned God or any higher power since Gunther has known her except for the occasional "Oh my God" or "I swear to God." She'd said Rocky was spiritual, so did that mean she was not?

Although Gunther was curious, he wasn't quite sure if they could get into such a subject currently, even after everything else they had laid down to one-another. Religion was just one of those off-limits subjects, Gunther guessed. Obviously, it wasn't any more personal than anything else they had spoken of, but like many others, he tended to stay away from the subject with most others out of habit. It was likely due to the fact he was still trying to figure it out himself.

"Do you tink it might have been God telling you to tell me dis?" The question had slipped out before his brain could catch up, still on the memories of speaking with Ol'ga and ones of speaking with Tinka. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "Oh, wait, never mind."

This time when CeCe laughed, it flowed normally, color back in her face as she sipped at the rest of her melting whipped cream before it could spill over the edges. "Everyone always gets so awkward when it comes to the Big Man Upstairs." She sipped some of her coffee, bringing up her leg to balance the mug on her knee as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "Anyway, I don't really know. Makes sense, I guess, but I don't usually think of stuff like that. Mom tried to get Flynn and me to go to church with her and dad when we were younger, but neither one of us liked to sit still for that long, always asking how much longer we had to stay." She chuckled at the memory. "Finally, they stopped trying to force us, though Mom still makes sure to let us know that if we want to go again, she'll make sure she's free to go with her. Dad's… well, Dad. He goes when he remembers."

Gunther smiled at that. "Ve did not go _every_ Sunday when Tinka _und_ I vere little. Eet vas not until few years ago we went every veek _und_ were expected to go to de altar every morning."

"Altar?" CeCe's expression turned thoughtful. "Like statues and stuff? Deuce and Dina are both Catholic—or, well, they both go to Catholic churches; I don't know how devout they are—and they have altars with pictures of Mary and saints I've never heard of at their places. Candles and those long, beaded necklaces too."

"Rosaries," Gunther told her with a small laugh before taking a sip of his latte.

"Oh, yeah, that's what they're called." Her smile was contagious. "Anyway, I think there's a god, though I don't think he cares what gender we say he is, what name we give him, and he's _got_ to have better things to do than take attendance. Worship is for people, I think. What god has so low self-esteem that he needs to have people constantly telling him how great he is?" She shrugged. "Rocky used to try and get me to come to youth group with her, arguing about how it's not that God _needs_ it, it's just good for us to worship, but it's just not my thing."

That last comment made Gunther laugh, almost spitting out his latte. He'd never heard someone say worship wasn't his or her thing, like how someone might shrug at another asking why he or she didn't like to skateboard or play baseball.

It was weird how openly Gunther could speak to CeCe, and it was obvious that this openness went both ways. It was almost as uplifting as when Gunther danced. Whether the girl sitting next to him was talking or listening, it was like the rhythm moving his feet and the melody flowing through his body. CeCe's very presence helped to lift the weight that threatened to flatten the boy, and he was very grateful to have her as a friend.


	11. The Father's Job

**Chapter 11: The Father's Job**

"_Love and fear. Everything the father of a family says must inspire one or the other." - Joseph Joubert_

The conversation with Matka those days ago was still fresh on Kashlack's mind even tonight. He sent the message he'd been typing up as Tinka arrived home with her date, who offered a polite greeting to Kashlack and Squitza, who was reading _Blinder Instinkt_ by Andreas Winkelmann.

Standing, the father went over to shake Ty's hand, the boy having a nervous glint in his dark eyes, which made Kashlack smile. He had dreaded the day when Tinka would finally begin dating. The seventeen-year-old girl had her honey-colored hair falling just past her mid-back in flowing waves, a glowing face so much like her mother's when she was young, and grey-green eyes that kept turning towards her date stood with her hands clasped behind her back as she balanced in those hot pink, calf-high boots with heels Kashlack didn't want her wearing but held his tongue on such a matter. She was beautiful, and it had been inevitable that there would be boys who noticed.

As a teenager, Kashlack's uncle had told him a man's handshake said much about him, and as Ty's smile grew strained, Kashlack thought how this boy was lucky he was the one judging him and not his uncle. Ty had soft hands, having seen nowhere _near_ the amount of work Kashlack's large hands had seen. They also did not grip tightly, as if he were unsure of himself. As much as he should understand the father's place in the matters of his daughter, the suitor should also hold confidence. A girl such as Tinka deserved a man, not a mouse.

"Tank you for bringing my daughter back on time," said Kashlack, eyes darting over to the clock on the right of the door. "Ahead of time, actually. Dis is not a first date, you do not have to keep making good impression."

He laughed, Ty's chuckle sounding awkward as Tinka rolled her eyes. Kashlack, out of the corner of his eye, saw Matka shake her head at her son's attempt at humor. She had been fairly sour ever since their talk, and the man was not deaf to her dropped hints to Gunther to talk to her about what was going on in his head. She probably thought he was simply too scared to talk to either of his parents, but Kashlack disagreed. His son was beginning to see the light, the error of those earlier thoughts that had tried to deceive him.

It was a wonderful thing, and although Kashlack respected his mother deeply, this was an issue he disagreed with her on all counts.

"Apa, stop teasing him," Tinka petitioned, thin arms crossed over her chest.

She wore a powder pink dress with white leggings that tucked into her boots, her long coat unbuttoned. Kashlack's little girl was turning into a beautiful woman, and the man was pleased to see that whenever Ty's eyes darted towards her, it was always towards her face.

"It's alright, Tinka," the boy assured. He then gave a nod to the gatekeeper. "Have a good night, Mr. Hessenheffer." He leaned to the left slightly to look over at Squitza. "You too, Mrs. Hessenheffer." He looked over at Katka. "And Mrs. Hessenheffer."

"'Baba'," the old woman corrected without looking up from her needlepoint. It was likely she hadn't understood much of what was being said, but she knew the last words had been directed at her and could have easily picked up the meaning. "Call 'Baba'. No 'Mrs. Hessenheffer'." She used her needle to point at Squitza briefly. "Mrs. Hessenheffer." She pointed at herself. "Baba." She began sewing again. "_Dobrú noc_."

"She says 'good night'," Tinka whispered to her boyfriend.

Looking awkward again, Ty nodded, telling the grey-haired woman in the rocking chair, "Good night, Baba."

The way he said that made it sound as if he were unsure of whether or not it was actually okay to use such a casual title with the grandmother of his girlfriend, but when Katka smiled, he seemed to be put more at ease before leaving the apartment after a promise to Tinka to text her later.

Not long after the door was closed, Squitza closed her book and practically twirled over to her daughter, hair fluttering around her slender body. It was down for the night, only a light blue headband used for decoration as well as to keep it out of her face that would be clean of make-up within the hour. She pulled at her daughter's hands towards the dining table, pink lips pulled into a large smile.

"Come, come! Tell me about your date!"

Kashlack chuckled at his wife's childlike excitement as he went into the kitchen to prepare the tea, listening as his daughter (timidly at first) began to talk of her night.

Ty sounded like a good man, remembering how much Tinka had always wanted to visit Italy and bringing her to a restaurant that Tinka swore seemed to have transported her there. The college boy was definitely a good listener, and he was taking German as his foreign language as well as asking someone in one of his classes to teach him Hungarian—he still had not met any others besides the Hessenheffers and their extended family who were from the Old Country. Kashlack would not be surprised if Ty was also raising the money for a program to help him learn Slovak.

It was wonderful Tinka had found someone willing to learn about her beautiful heritage, even go through learning the languages so as to communicate with her better. Relationships were about communication, after all.

During dinner, Ty had tried speaking to Tinka only in German, his pronunciation still off and grammar skill almost toddler-like, but he was doing well just by trying, Tinka helping him happily.

Kashlack smiled at his daughter's voice as he poured the hot water into two mugs, which he remembered Gunther had made when he was younger. He and Tinka had decided they wanted to sign up for art classes along with dancing, and Kashlack had been happy to oblige to whatever made his children happy.

The mugs were personalized for Squitza and Tinka, and at the bottom of each cup in the sloppy script of a paintbrush was **I love you** in Hungarian. Kashlack's father and uncles had been from the region that mainly spoke that language, travelling north in search of work. Many of them still spoke the language around the farm, standing out in the community most likely, but it meant something to all of them.

It meant something that Gunther had used that language to paint the phrase no parent ever grew tired of hearing.

As a child, both Gunther and his sister had been rapt by the tales of how their family refused to bow to the atheist propaganda, standing up for their faith in a time and place that could—and did—get them into trouble. Gunther and Tinka had hailed their grandfather and great-uncles as heroes, and, hopefully, they still did. Kashlack refused to believe he could be doing anything that may push either of his children away from the Lord, but sometimes he wondered.

The twins dutifully went to church and said devotions and prayers without complaint, but how did one tell whether the actions came from the heart or out of obligation, void of any feeling?

Kashlack had taken on Isidor's (his brother-in-law, whose farm Gunther had spent time on) feelings on faith and worship. God was love. All that was not love came from the devil, trying to throw his spurs into the Lord's children and drag him down into his realm of suffering. Isidor had often said how those that did not find peace within the church and used that as an excuse to move away and even give their faith to a false god had been tricked by the devil and needed to be shown true light, true love. Kashlack agreed.

God was Truth. If something was not truth, then it was a lie. It was that simple.

Only, even if God was Truth, if no one truly knew what or who God was, did that mean any of them really knew the Truth?

Kashlack shook his head, taking out the strainers from the mug and emptying the tea leaves into the compost bin next to the sink. The mollifying scent of pine-lemon tea filled the large man's nostrils, lifting his spirits as he carried the two mugs over to his wife and daughter. The younger was now speaking of dessert and coffee with a sparkle in her deep-set eyes as the elder's head was propped up by one of her delicate, perfect-for-violin hands.

Her own eyes seemed to be lost in memory, possibly of when she and her husband would sneak off for dates whenever possible, stealing under the cover of night and not caring where they had to tuck away to, so long as they were together.

"Tea," the loving husband announced, remembering some of those times as if he and Squitza's minds were joined just as much as their souls. He kissed his daughter on the forehead and wife on the cheek after setting down the mugs before taking another chair to listen to what had gone on tonight.

"Thank you, Apa," Tinka chimed as Squitza told him, "Thank you, my love."

He nodded in response as Squitza took a sip, the girl going back to how there had been white tulips on the table in the café they'd gone to. Tulips had always been Tinka's favorite flower, white ones especially. She'd said how even though they were plain, they still held great beauty, and her face glowed as she mentioned them on the table, a corner of Kashlack's wide mouth quirking upwards. He enjoyed seeing his daughter like this, and he hoped Ty would always know just how special this girl was and provide her with what a gem like her deserved.

If not, he would see first-hand just how strong working on a farm and in a butcher shop could make a man.

As it turned out, the café was owned by one of Mrs. Blue's regulars at her salon in Lakeview (she had one there and another in North Center), and Ty had taken Tinka there at closing time, the two dancing in a cleared area after they had both finished dessert and coffee.

Always, Tinka had loved dancing, and while Kashlack had found many of those moves and outfits on the show she and her brother had been on lacking in modesty, the young blonde was a wonderful dancer, eyes and face always lighting up whether it was freestyle, some hip-hop number neither of her parents understood the affection of by her peers, the tango, the waltz, or ballet.

Gunther had been the very same, even if he had acted as if he only did it to please his sister at first. While Kashlack had never wanted to push either of his children towards anything, sometimes he wondered if he should have at least tried with his son. Fencing, maybe? It used more brains than brawn, and the moves could be like dancing, the opponent not much different than a partner.

Would it have made a difference?

How on earth could someone actually believe he or she was born the wrong gender? This was a thought that Kashlack just could not conceive, and he did not want to think about it.

A person just could not be born the wrong gender or have his or her "brain's gender" not match up with his or her biology or whatever it was people were saying. It was sin's stain, just as a person might lust after another he or she was not tied to or any other sin. It was something that needed to be worked through by reading the Word and turning towards the Light and Truth.

Instead, there were people enabling those suffering from the same affliction as Gunther. God had made Adam and Eve in the beginning, and the bonds of marriage were between a natural-born woman and a natural-born man.

Look at how society had become warped to where the terms "man" and "woman" even needed to have amplifiers such as "natural-born"! Did that not say just how far the world was heading away from the nature their Father had created?

Every morning and night, Kashlack prayed for all of those people. When a person got a tumor, the doctor did not say the patient was born that way or that it was alright to have a tumor and all those who said otherwise were close-minded. The doctor would be fired and have his or her license revoked if he or she did any of that sort! This illness that had been in Gunther's mind for seemingly years was the same. Illnesses needed to be cured, but this type of illness apparently could not be cured by medicines. Only God's Grace could levitate the sufferings plaguing the boy.

Maybe Kashlack had been too harsh sending him off. He had panicked, not knowing what to do or how to deal with what he had been told. All he wanted was for his son to be happy, but he knew Gunther could never be happy changing his sex as so many deceived souls in those forums and videos claimed. It would only be the illusion of happiness; Kashlack knew this. He just _knew_.

"So where is Gunther?" asked Tinka when she was finished with her tale, taking her first sip of tea. "I want to tell him about my night. Oh, do not tell me he followed me! I told him not to!"

Kashlack and Squitz both laughed at that, the former answering: "Do not worry. He went to a coffeehouse with a friend."

The way Tinka nodded, it seemed like she knew who this friend was, making Kashlack realize he hadn't asked. He had decided to not punish Gunther for the detention he'd gotten on Monday, and the man had been too into his own thoughts to keep such a close eye on his son when he'd been used to keeping a loose leash for most of Gunther's and Tinka's lives. The most he was doing was going over his son's chat and internet history on his laptop, but he was pretty sure he would not find anything anyway.

It was merely a precaution, letting Gunther know that both fathers are always watching, making sure he stays true. It was out of love—always out of love.

As long as he hadn't seen anything that deemed necessary for him to look into, he preferred to keep a few steps back, keeping his children within sight so they had him nearby when needed, yet, at the same time, the two would learn how to take care of themselves.

Kashlack had thought it a very good parenting strategy, and Tinka was doing very well. Even Gunther only had that one stumbling block, large as it may be. Still, Kashlack would need to begin sticking closer to Gunther so as to keep him from straying again, to catch him in case he fell.

After another sip of tea, Tinka excused herself from the table, saying she was going to get ready for bed. Apparently she had a teacher that preferred to give out his tests on Monday, and she wanted to get some last-minute studying in.

"I love seeing our Tinka so happy," sighed Squitza, still lost in beautiful memories. "She had been so upset, but being with Ty really helped her. He seems very good for her."

"He does," Kashlack agreed.

Gunther and Tinka had never been very popular; the parents had never bothered deluding themselves on that front. Their children were different and proud of how they could stand out and be themselves. Those were children the parents had wanted to raise, knowing it could (and would) come with costs. Having pride in who one was oftentimes stirred negative feelings in others, whatever those may be.

Pride could be a sin, but only in excessive. Otherwise it was a wonderful gift that lifted one's spirit, allowing him or her to let it soar as it was meant to.

When exactly had Gunther's taken such a steep dive? He claimed to have always felt the way he felt, but "always" was a word tossed around often even when it did not fit. It had to be the same thing in this situation.

God did not make mistakes. There would always be struggle; it was that way for everyone.

Kashlack would help his children through any struggles. That was what a father was supposed to do.


	12. Sleepless Night

**Chapter 12: Sleepless Night**

"_Man is a Religious Animal. He is the only Religious Animal. He is the only animal that has the True Religion - several of them. He is the only animal that loves his neighbor as himself and cuts his throat if his theology isn't straight. He has made a graveyard of the globe in trying his honest best to smooth his brother's path to happiness and heaven." - Mark Twain_

Hair fanned out around her head, CeCe laid among her many pillows and stuffed animals she hadn't had the heart to get rid of. Ellie, a stuffed elephant from the circus when the girl had been four and not very good with coming up with names, was clutched to her chest. It was just past midnight, and while CeCe had been known to stay up until about 2:30 or three o'clock, she still felt like she needed sleep.

Rest, so her mind could recuperate.

Unfortunately, sleep was like her cellphone charger. When she actually needed it, it was nowhere to be found.

Mind racing, the redhead finally decided there was no use in staying in bed, so she set Ellie aside, wrapped her fuzzy pink blanket around her thin body, and went to turn on the lamp on her nightstand. Flynn sometimes called it her "drunk lamp" due to the fact the light purple shade was upside-down.

The light provided wasn't bright, but it was enough to see by without the risk of waking her mother. Seriously, even the smallest bit of light seeping under the police woman's door could rouse her from the deepest sleep, this fact always reminding CeCe that it would forever be rare and temporary for her to get away with anything—at least until she moved out, but even that was only a small possibility, she knew.

As she got up and shuffled over to the chair in front of her white-and-black desk, swearing she'd buy herself new slippers tomorrow, CeCe could hear what sounded like furniture being moved around upstairs. The Blue apartment was right above the Jones one, the layout identical. Upstairs was Rocky, doing God-knew-what, sleeping just as well as CeCe was. Before, if one was unable to sleep, she would call, text, or IM the other, whether to talk through what was on her mind, or simply to just talk.

Taking a bite of a homemade (by a neighbor and not Georgia or CeCe, obviously) bonbon kept in a glass container on her desk, the girl powered on her laptop. She ate the rest of her bonbon before typing in her password, hitting the mute button just in time to keep the noise her laptop made when she signed in from waking up Georgia or Flynn—or worse, Jake. That little pug, who slept with Flynn every night, would bark loud enough to wake up the entire floor if roused.

Getting out her headphones from the shallow drawer right below the desk's main surface, CeCe went onto a video website, wanting to forget about her conversation earlier tonight. She liked getting closer to Gunther. He deserved a good friend, and while CeCe wasn't sure if she could be that friend, she was more than willing to try. She liked talking with him, and while she really had thought she had needed to tell him what she had found out.

All those emotions being dredged up… Had that not been enough?

Then Gunther had _just_ needed to bring up the subject of God too?

CeCe had done her best to stick by him, answering best she could and keeping any distress off of her face and out of her voice. Everything she'd said was true. She really did believe in some sort of higher power out there somewhere, and her parents had stopped trying to go to church as a family when CeCe was eight, Flynn three, almost four. It was a year or so before the divorce was final, but CeCe usually didn't like mentioning that. Enough people already assumed that maybe Georgia's and J.J.'s marriage could have been saved if they had attended church more.

She didn't need any more people giving her a patronizing pat on the shoulder while saying, "I'll pray for you."

Somewhere in CeCe's mind, she knew and somewhat acknowledged that the people saying that truly believed they were doing the right thing, but the larger part of her mind saw such words as arrogance. What made those people believe they seriously knew what was best for _her_ when they knew next-to-nothing about her life?! Some ancient book? A person shouting verses from a pulpit?

CeCe may not have gone to a service since she was eight (except for a few youth group meetings and bible camp with Rocky), but she hated church. She hated the god they preached about. The guilt and fear they shoveled onto those parishioners. She hated so many of them wore the title "sheep" like it was actually something to be proud about. She hated the so-called righteousness—the elitism.

She hated the church so much, and she hated _herself_ for holding so much hate.

Pulling her feet up onto the chair, CeCe pulled the blanket more tightly around her body and biting her lip to keep any sobs from escaping. She stared at the music video, but the picture became blurred as tears burned her eyes. She didn't want to hate the religion she was once taught was all about love, about following a man that scolded his disciples from letting the children come to him and the Pharisees, who had become proud in their practice, losing the love of faith.

Yet, within the past several years, CeCe only saw love in that religion only when she looked closely. Even then, though, that love seemed reserved for fellow Christians. What about others?

"_Oh, I'll pray for you."_

Many times, those words seemed to be a way of saying, "You're definitely going to Hell, but I don't want to feel bad about not helping, so here's my way out of that pesky guilt."

That damn guilt.

Swallowing, the salty taste of tears mixed with the remnants of chocolate as a few drops ran into her mouth as she opened it wide to take a deep breath. She wasn't sure if she could take this much longer. She tried to be strong. She tried and tried, but all she ever felt was weak. Still, she kept up the façade, which, somehow, managed to fool the others.

It never would have fooled Rocky.

But she refused to be around her anymore, drowning in her own darkness for all CeCe knew. Still, she was haunted by that afternoon, the images even clearer, sounds louder, ever since her conversation with Gunther. Had any of her emotions leaked through? She had felt the sting of tears coming, but she had tried her best to keep everything shoved back.

Only, it was like a bottle of soda shaken up over time. That was another reason CeCe had made up that fib to leave early. She'd been terrified about exploding then and there.

_Rubbing her temples, CeCe sat at her desk, trying to think of how to continue her essay. Dammit, she needed five-hundred more words!_

_Suddenly, "Blah Blah Blah" by Kesha blared from CeCe's mobile, sitting on the nightstand atop the book she should have started reading a week ago._

_Sighing, CeCe pushed herself away from her desk and grabbed her phone. "Rock—"_

_Hysterical crying cut her off, CeCe's eyes going wide and color bleeding away from her already-pale face._

"_Rocky?!" CeCe shouted into the phone, hands shaking and breath turning shallow. "Rocky! What is it?!"_

"_Oh God…" Rocky managed through her sobs and what sounded like screams that turned into pained moans at the last second—like Rocky didn't want to alert her neighbors. "There's so much blood! It's all over the floor—"_

_The phone hit the floor, CeCe rushing out of her room. Jake barked, somewhere by her feet, but she couldn't worry about the puppy right now. Rocky needed her. _Blood_?! What the hell was going on?!_

_Fleeing the apartment, CeCe vaguely noticed nearly knocking over Flynn, Henry, and Ty. She dared not apologize. No time. There was only Rocky._

_Just Rocky._

_She thought she heard a voice and footsteps from behind, but CeCe could only focus on her own steps. Dammit, why couldn't she move any faster?!_

_Luckily, the front door of the Blues' apartment was unlocked, but the redhead was sure she would have crashed right through it if needed. She heard more shouts coming from behind as well as sobbing from the restroom between Mr. and Mrs. Blue's and Rocky's rooms. CeCe rushed in there, the door only open a crack._

_On the floor, one arm thrown over the ledge of the tub for support, was Rocky, right arm shaking._

_Shaking, and bleeding heavily from a gash that started at her wrist, moving up her forearm by a few inches, but with all the blood, her entire arm might as well have been cut off. In front of her, covered in blood was a kitchen knife._

_CeCe nearly vomited right there, barely registering being pushed aside by Ty, who snatched the red silk scarf from around her neck and used it to tie a tight knot above the wound on Rocky's arm, shouting something at CeCe._

"…_now!" Deep fear and wrath filled his chocolate eyes. "CeCe! Focus! There's sage in the spice cabinet! Get! It! _Now_!"_

_His words felt slow, yet CeCe still hesitated before nodding and rushing straight to the kitchen, as if she were listening to Señora giving her instructions in class _en español_. It was a good thing she knew exactly where the spice cabinet was, knowing this apartment just as well as her own._

_While getting the glass jar of crushed sage from the cabinet, CeCe could hear Rocky's pitiful-sounding cries coming from the bathroom, the redhead's heart falling with each word._

"_I'm so sorry," Rocky sobbed. "I just couldn't take it anymore. I'm so sorry."_

_Sounding much calmer than he really was, Ty declared. "I hafta call nine-one-one."_

"_No!" Rocky shrieked, head coming up from the tub as CeCe reentered the bathroom, handing the sage to Ty. His cellphone was in his other hand as well as a white hand towel, soaked red from trying to clean Rocky's arm. "No! Mom and Dad _can't_ find out! _Please_!"_

_Rocky's face was so pale, eyes red from crying, and snot dried on her upper lip. The sight nearly made CeCe fall to her knees, and she grasped the doorframe for balance._

"_Rocky!" shouted Ty, setting down his phone on the toilet lid as he opened the jar, pouring sage over Rocky's wound. The bleeding slowed almost instantaneously. "You need stitches!"_

_The girl just kept shaking her head. "They can't know. They can't know. They can't know…"_

As far as CeCe knew, Mr. and Mrs. Blue had never found out. Keeping the secret had given her a sour taste in her mouth and pain in her gut, as if having just drunk a pint of milk well-past its expiration date. Yet, Rocky had been adamant about them never knowing, and after bringing Rocky back from a nearby free clinic (Ty had a friend working there and had been able to get his sister fixed up without having to give out their information), Ty had decided that it would probably be safer if they _didn't_ know.

Even now, CeCe was unsure if Rocky and Ty were right, but they knew their parents better than she did. She also had no place in saying anything now, and Rocky had never attempted taking her own life after that.

Yet, while still friends, their relationship had definitely strained. Whenever together, CeCe had always felt like she was walking on eggshells. She had watched everything she said, overthinking everything she did or what would come out of her mouth. She had been unable to stop thinking about the possibility of setting Rocky off, of the possibility of there being a next attempt—a successful one.

Many nights, CeCe had cried herself to sleep, not knowing what to do or who to go to. Her heart had hurt, chest feeling tight as tears had soaked her pillow. She had been unable to go to her mom. She would have alerted Rocky's parents. She couldn't have even spoken to Flynn. She had dared not even speak to Jake.

Back at that apartment, CeCe had been ordered by Ty to clean the bathroom before Marcie came home—Curtis had been in Uganda at the time. CeCe had wanted to be by Rocky, but Ty had assured she'd be fine. However, if Marcie had found all that blood, she would have discovered what Rocky had done.

CeCe had vomited twice while cleaning. She had never been good with blood, and she had felt like she needed a doctor herself by the end of it.

Sick from the sight of blood, worried about Rocky, terrified of what her friend was going through and whether she might even survive, angry and feeling betrayed she had even done this, guilty for feeling angry, grief-stricken for almost losing her friend, angry again at Rocky for causing this anguish, guilty again, confused about who deserved her ire…

To this day, CeCe had no idea how she had kept it all together.

Shakily, CeCe clicked on a link for a different music video, but she couldn't even remember what she had just listened to. All she could think about was Rocky.

Christianity had done that to her. The guilt it chucked at its followers had eaten the girl from the inside, out—until she'd felt like she just didn't deserve to live anymore.

"_I'm obviously going to Hell anyway. I'd just thought that, maybe, I might as well quicken the process."_

During Christmas break in tenth grade, two months after the attempt, Rocky had finally begun to open up while the two drank eggnog in CeCe's room. Apparently, Rocky had begun having doubts in eighth grade, but she had refused to acknowledge any of them. She had _needed_ to be the good Christian daughter her parents had sought to raise. Any questions that had arisen had been pushed back immediately.

Every day, Rocky had pleaded with God to keep Satan out of her heart, to give her strength so she would ignore the doubts the devil was planting into her mind. There were nights she had cried herself to sleep, just imagining her body burning in Hell.

She couldn't become a non-believer. Her church had always taught that those that "slipped away" from faith had never been true Christians. Once saved, always saved.

Yet, for as long as CeCe could recall, Rocky had loved God and Jesus, oftentimes approaching random people that looked to be having a hard day that Jesus was thinking of them and could help them through their troubles. She had been ecstatic to go to church every Sunday as a child, waking up early and running to her parent's room like it was Christmas morning. She had always saved up money to go to bible camp every autumn and spring. She had been even more excited to attend Sunday school (and later, youth group) with even more fervor than physics or pre-cal—and that was seriously saying something with Rocky.

If Rocky had never been a "true believer", then _who was_?

Slowly losing her faith had been the most devastating thing Rocky had ever faced, and she had begun taking more and more time to read through her bible to save it.

However, it had only made her lose even _more_ faith in the religion she had grown up with, the one she had always believed to be the one and only truth.

To have started seeing that as untrue…

It had been devastating to her. She had begun feeling guilty about everything, begging God to cleanse her of her doubts, pleading with the Savior to take her soul—to clean it of the sin her questions were thrusting upon her.

"_Impure thoughts are just as bad as impure actions."_

Her eyes had been unblinking when she had said that, trained on a wall but obviously seeing nothing, mind elsewhere.

Although CeCe had always been disinterested in religion, she had always been supportive of Rocky, even attending youth group with her—she'd even gone to bible camp once. It had been alright, but CeCe just hadn't believed in anything that had been preached to her. Rocky hadn't understood that, but she had respected CeCe, never trying to force belief onto her.

CeCe didn't know where Rocky now stood in faith (or lack of it). She wanted to be there for her, and that party had been an attempt at cheering her up—a backfire, obviously.

Had that kiss made Rocky worse?

After everything, it still took self-control to keep CeCe from screaming at evangelists preaching on street corners or handing out pamphlets in front of stores and restaurants. All she ever heard them say was how they all needed Christ, how He would make their lives better and save them from eternal death.

Hearing that, she could only think of Rocky, avoiding books about biology because they talked about evolution; on her knees at what seemed like any moment a "sinful" thought popped into her head, begging God for forgiveness and to give her strength; trying to get her hands on any apologetics book she could; trembling with guilt if it turned out she'd spent too much of her money and had nothing for tithes…

Where had been _her_ better life with Christ?! All Christianity had done was make her _hate_ herself!

Wrapping the blanket even more tightly around her, CeCe tried to keep from sobbing. She didn't want to hate that religion, but she did.

And if she was to pray to any deity for anything, it would be that history would not repeat itself with Gunther.

**_No one hallucinated that cross on the cover picture. Much of this story will have a pretty heavy spiritual aspect, as you can see, but I promise, this will not be a story that hates on Christianity. However, I wanted to look into both negative and positive aspects of it with an individual. I've found a couple of apologetic/Christian living books I've begun reading for this story (I'll likely mention the books, whether in the story or an author's note), and, so far, I've found some interesting ideas to incorporate later on. I hope you all are enjoying the story~ :)_**


	13. Keeping the Mind Busy

**Chapter 13: Keeping the Mind Busy**

"_Faced with the choice between changing one's mind and proving that there is no need to do so, almost everyone gets busy on the proof." - John Kenneth Galbraith_

The last ten minutes of English were spent looking over the two sheets of paper, text printed on the fronts and backs for a total of almost two-hundred options for the research paper due in May, Gunther trying to decide which topic he could most-easily find eight-to-twelve pages of words to write about.

Ms. Rayne had explained the size of the text and what font to use, emphasizing that she wanted both a printed copy as well as a copy sent to her e-mail. Apparently, the teachers had learned about the trick with making the periods a size larger, which would be unnoticeable in print but would make the paper noticeably longer.

Upon hearing this, several students had groaned, obviously disappointed they would be unable to get away with a trick that had been spread all over the internet—Gunther wasn't shocked teachers had discovered it and were trying to make sure students didn't get away with using the trick.

By the time the final bell rang, Gunther had underlined twenty ideas on the papers. Some of these books, essays, and poems he had read, but this wasn't just a usual essay where he summarized the work and added his few cents about what he thought. There needed to be secondary sources as well, and most of the suggested topics were about the writer's intentions or what sort of reactions and emotions various works were meant to evoke.

Ms. Rayne wrote on the board (as well as included with the papers of topics) various websites to visit to find secondary works for use, and she had also added the name of the librarians in charge of the reference sections of the Merlo Branch Chicago Public Library and the Lincoln-Belmont Library. Unfortunately, it looked like senioritis was already beginning to set into most of the class, even though it was only January.

The opposite was true for Gunther. Although he usually was not excited about his studies, it kept his thoughts occupied. That was something he needed right now. He still had the image of someone hanging in his closet, neck bent at an unnatural angle, limp body slowly swinging like a sadistic pendulum. Such an image was not one Gunther wanted, and his eyes had kept going towards his closet last night as well as the night before.

The conversation with CeCe at the café was still fresh on his mind, and he had only seen her in passing since then, her expression saying her thoughts had been occupied as well.

After school, Tinka would be heading to Lakeview Mall with Dina, setting up for Gunther to meet up with Deuce and Ty at Crusty's. The blonde had snuck into Gunther's room last night after Apa, Anya, and Baba had fallen asleep, anxious to tell her brother all about her date before noticing the haunted look in his eyes.

He still had not admitted to the scars, only relaying what CeCe had told him about that boy. Tinka had ended up looking troubled as well, and it looked like she believed something her twin really needed was a strong support group—more than just her and CeCe. He needed friends—people who would show him love and empathy when he had trouble finding it within his own family.

"Everyone remember to get started on this paper immediately," Ms. Rayne declared, having to raise her voice as a horde of students stampeded for the door just as the bell rang.

The teacher rolled her dark brown eyes and pushed her glasses up the narrow bridge of her nose upon realizing that her words were lost. Still, she continued for the quarter of the class waiting long enough for the door traffic to thin out:

"Just because you have until May twenty-ninth, doesn't mean you will be able to afford to wait to do this, especially with your other essays and readings to do this semester."

Gunther gave a nod, knowing he especially did not have time to slack off on any of his work. He was only half-finished with his _Paradise Lost_ essay, and he had already begun reading (okay, skimming) _Wuthering Heights_ and _Othello_. Notecards on _Macbeth_ were due on Wednesday, and Gunther was still having trouble thinking of what he was going to do for his project.

Last summer, Ms. Rayne had given everyone a choice of five novels to read as well as one of three plays, but as Gunther had not gotten back until this month, he had been given an extension to turn in his notecards and essays on _The Duchess of Malfi_ and _Madame Bovary_.

He also had a project due for _Madame Bovary_, one without any strict guidelines. Art by alumni still hung on the walls; there were some sculptures and even what looked like either tapestries or hand-woven blankets; and a skit of a _Beowulf_ scene done several years ago had made Ms. Rayne emphasize that items _not_ allowed in school were also _not_ allowed for the project, including _anything_ that could be used as a weapon—apparently the guy that had played the dragon had brought a kitchen flame torch, nearly setting the podium on fire.

"Having trouble with anything?" Ms. Rayne inquired when Gunther shoved his binder into his backpack.

Looking up, the boy realized he was the last person in class other than the woman with her many, thin braids pulled back into a larger braid that fell to half-way down her back.

Standing so he was roughly four inches taller than the teacher, Gunther murmured, "Just a lot on my mind, I guess."

Ms. Rayne nodded understandably, having to push her wire-framed glasses up the bridge of her nose again. "Yes, you do have much on your plate—much more than many of the other students. If you need an extension on anything, please do not be afraid to let me know." Her full lips curved into a gentle smile.

Trying to clear his mind of his earlier thoughts, Gunther did his best to return the gesture. "Tank you very much." He picked up his backpack, wanting to leave.

Ms. Rayne was a great teacher, despite giving out so much work, but she was also the faculty advisor for the Gay-Alliance Club here. Gunther did not want to attend any meetings, and although Ms. Rayne had never advertised the club during class time, there was a poster between the door and dry-erase board. There were also three flyers, there as reminders for upcoming events.

The first was for International Transgender Day of Visibility on 31 March; second was Day of Silence on 17 April; and then above the Gay-Straight Alliance poster was a flyer advertising Gay Pride Month, which was June.

The poster for International Transgender Day of Visibility had a flag on it with light blue stripes on the top and bottom, then two pastel pink stripes and a white stripe in the center. Gunther almost wanted to ask about it, but he held his tongue. However, Ms. Rayne must have noticed where his eyes had gone, because she opened her mouth to speak, the boy having to cut her off quickly:

"Tank you, Ms. Rayne. I must be off."

Scurrying out of that room, Gunther tried to keep his thoughts on _Macbeth_. He still needed to finish up those notecards, mainly for characters.

Macbeth had been tempted by the words of those witches, pushed towards that goal by his wife, whom Gunther's notes pointed out was probably still in mourning from either a miscarriage or stillbirth, the pain coupled with great guilt later on in the play driving her to madness…

Gunther kept his mind on that, thinking of what to put in his notecards as he went to his locker, spotting Kevin walking—more like stalking—his way. His hair had more blond than brown in it now, Gunther remembering Tinka say Kevin used to dye his hair. Looked like he was starting that again, though with that scowl and hard look, Gunther wasn't quite sure how this guy could have ever been considered desirable.

Tensing as he turned to spin the combination for his locker, Gunther waited, slowly relaxing when Kevin only glared before moving on, shoving a guy back when he nearly ran into the behemoth.

Letting out breath he hadn't noticed he was holding, Gunther opened his locker, packing up what he needed and shoving what he didn't into the locker. Along with English, there was still that history project and paper that needed to be done, and there were a bunch of equations to learn for trigonometry—luckily, Mr. Jenkins allowed for the use of "reference sheets" during tests. Sometimes it felt like every teacher believed he or she was the only one giving work.

Grabbing his coat and shutting his locker, Gunther paused, wondering if he forgot something.

_English, history, math, chemistry…_ He thought and then nearly smacked himself on the forehead before opening his locker back up with a small grumble._ Almost forgot art class._

Only in Art II when he should have been in Art IV, Gunther actually had less work than he could have gotten, but his art teacher did not believe in easy A's. She was known as a harsh grader as well, once even making a girl in her Art III class cry last year, Gunther had heard from a classmate. Mrs. Burnett was very good, though, but that didn't make it any better when it came to Gunther's work load.

He grabbed the rolled-up newsprint paper and shut his locker again, trying to become calm again as he pulled on his coat and gloves, now thinking about his art project. A piece was due every other week, the next one being a glass vase half-filled with water and with two daisies and a tulip in it. The cloth on the table and wall behind the vase had many folds and wrinkles meticulously done to make the students learn how to deal with cloth, Mrs. Burnett ranting for almost ten minutes today about the horrible cloth-work and contrast on some of the past assignments.

Pulling on his fleece ski cap, Gunther began thinking about using blue versus using grey for the shadowing with the white in the cloth as well as using brown versus using purple for the shadowing in the red of the tulip. He carefully kept his thoughts within those tracks as he entered Crusty's, passing the door that led into the game room he once enjoyed hanging out in from time to time and heading down into the basement, where the restaurant was located.

Deuce was already wiping down a table, waving with his free hand upon spotting Gunther. He pointed towards the back booth they'd sat at last time with Tinka and Dina, the blond boy giving a nod and smile before heading over there. He let his heavy backpack drop to the floor as he tossed his rolled-up newsprint onto the table, towards the wall. It unrolled as Gunther took off his hat, gloves, coat, and pullover, taking the pencil box from the outer pocket of his backpack so he could work on the thumbnail for his painting, due next Friday.

Coming over to the booth, Deuce threw the off-white wiping cloth over one shoulder. "Ty'll be here in about ten minutes. Want the same thing to drink as last time? Um, Dr. Pepper, right?"

Gunther nodded. "No ice."

"Right. Be back in a bit."

"Tanks."

On the newsprint, Gunther had three thumbnails, and he was still trying to decide which had the best composition. He darkened the lines on the thumbnail on the far right, using cross-hatching to show where cast shadow needed to go.

"Here you go." Deuce set the glass onto a napkin next to the newsprint along with a straw still in its paper wrapping. "Looks really good. I didn't know you could draw."

The Latino sounded genuinely surprised and interested, and Gunther decided that Deuce really was a good guy. Maybe a little dim with some things, especially pertaining with school, but if he could so-easily set aside all the crap Gunther and Tinka had put him through since third grade (when he had befriended CeCe and Rocky), then Gunther could give him a chance.

Almost fifteen minutes later, Ty arrived, Deuce sliding the Sierra Mist his way as he set his book bag down and peeled off his navy trench coat and leather gloves. He left on his knitted cap, though, sitting down with a nod of thanks.

"Sorry I'm late," he said after taking a long sip of his soda. "Prof Chapman always holds class over a few minutes."

"What does he teach again?" asked Deuce after swallowing a bite of his slice of deep-dish meat-lover pizza.

"Bible as Literature. Unfortunately, it's required," replied Ty as he shook his head. He then looked over at the waitress as she approached. "Hey, Alexia. How's Liam and Bekka?"

Looking up from his lemon ricotta ravioli—today's special—Gunther noticed that the waitress was the same as when he was last here, her auburn hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She smiled at Ty, but her blue eyes had lavender rings under them, visible against her alabaster skin. She looked tired, but her expression showed that she was used to putting on a smile despite whatever came her way.

"They're doing good, thanks. Liam should be getting his associate's soon, and Bekka got the job she wanted."

"That's awesome." Ty's tone showed he meant it. "Tell them I send my best."

"Same," added Deuce. "And remember, Uncle Frank's happy to help. He likes you even more than me, and I'm his nephew."

"Thank you." Alexia's smile grew.

Ty turned to Deuce, arching an eyebrow. "Frank likes the _IRS_ more than you."

Alexia giggled as Deuce glared, Gunther smirking.

Turning back to the waitress, Ty asked, "Can I get—"

"Cheese sticks with extra marinara?" she finished.

The college student gave a nod. "That's it."

"Coming right up!" She left, looking more uplifted than she had barely a minute ago.

"Alexia Desmet," said Deuce before Gunther could ask. "She's been working here for a little over a year, used to go to our school but is homeschooled now. Liam's her brother, and Bekka's his fiancé. They've been in here a few times. They're cool."

There sounded to be more to the story, but Deuce was unwilling to share. Gunther understood. It was Alexia's family, so Deuce had no place to share.

"They are," Ty agreed after another sip of his soda. "GSA still having their party here on Saturday?"

"Next Saturday," Deuce corrected as Gunther questioned, "Huh?"

Ty began to speak at the same time as Deuce, the former putting up his hands in a ceding motion, letting Deuce answer Gunther's question: "School's Gay-Straight Alliance Club. They have a party every so often, LGBT-related clubs from other schools joining. That was how they'd planned the dead-in and the memorial at the Art Institute. The dead-in wasn't just at our high school, but lots of schools all over Chicago."

Gunther nodded, still finding it amazing how much CeCe had been able to do when he imagined many probably would have fallen apart after taking everything she had been through.

Ty continued: "I'm hoping to get Rocky to go. I'm already going with Tinka, and I don't wanna make my lil' sis feel like a third wheel, but she needs to socialize at some point."

"She's not doing any better?" Deuce inquired, dark eyes showing worry.

"Need someone who'll do your 'man-scaping' for free again?" Ty joked, earning himself another glare. He turned as Alexia brought him his food. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Let me know if you guys need anything else."

"Think you'll be able to come to the GSA party next Saturday?" Ty inquired.

Mouth twisting almost like a frown but not quite, Alexia shook her head. "No dice. If my parents get wind of what kind of party it is, I'll never be able to leave the apartment. Wish I could come, though. I'll tell Liam and Bekka 'bout it. They might want to come."

"Dese parties can be a big deal?" asked Gunther after swallowing a bite of his ravioli.

"They're fun, pretty much like any other party," Ty responded. "They're not _huge_, really, but they're fun, and there's always lots of really cool people."

Deuce nodded, and Alexia inquired softly, "Hey, Ty, will Rocky be joining karate again? I had to quit, but she was really good. We all thought she'd bring a tournament trophy into the dojo." She tried for a smile, this one lopsided.

Shrugging, Ty took in a deep breath through his nose and let it out through his mouth. "I honestly don't know. All she really seems to want to do when not at school is either hang out in the library or book store or hole up in her room."

Alexia shook her head at that. "Tell her I asked about her? I'd still like to hang out."

"Trust me, we all would," Deuce murmured as he took a large bite of his pizza.

"I'll tell her," Ty assured.

The girl's smile grew slightly at the promise, eyes flickering to Gunther. "Sorry for not saying anything to you earlier." She stuck out her hand. "Alexia."

Gunther took her hand, returning the smile. "Gunther. Nice to meet you."

"You too." She smiled at the three. "Let me know if you guys need anything else."

She left, Gunther feeling like he needed to get to know her more.

**_Okay, obviously it'd be useless trying to speak to "Stop", but (s)he pointed out one thing (about how this is a waste of time and it's not like we get paid, yadda, yadda, yadda) some of you might be interested for yourselves or to pass on: Those that do not yet know, Amazon Kindle has introduced Kindle Worlds. With this, people can get their fan fiction published. Right now, I only know of the shows Gossip Girl, Pretty Little Liars, and The Vampire Diaries being licensed so far, but if anyone is interested, check it out! :) I think it sounds pretty cool._**

**_Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and, yes, Alexia will be playing a larger part later, more importantly, Liam and Bekka. Rocky will also have more say in the story later on, so those that are waiting for her part of the story, please be patient. Thank you for those that are reading and have reviewed (kindly, I should probably add, huh? X3). :) Also, Happy Memorial Day!_**


	14. Word of Advice

**Chapter 14: Word of Advice**

"_The two main hazards of psychoanalysis: that it might fail, and that if it succeeds, you'll never be able to forgive yourself for all those wasted years." - Mignon McLaughlin_

Using a grid drawn lightly with pencil, Gunther copied the image of the thumbnail on the right of the newsprint onto the nine-by-eleven inch stretch canvas. Playing from his laptop was "Feel It" by Kim Petras, and Gunther's eyes kept going back and forth between the newsprint pinned to his wall and the canvas, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he tried to get the image just right.

It was Thursday already, yet Gunther still needed to finish the outlines, whereas the others in his class had already begun painting. However, when it came to art (just like with dancing), Gunther had always been a perfectionist. When he was younger, he had thrown away many of his works, deeming them unworthy of even the refrigerator. Tinka had talked him into keeping his old sketchbooks, though, which had their own drawer in the back of his closet.

"_Why do you always draw mermaids?" inquired Tinka, switching between the dialect of the region their father and Baba was from and English—the twins had recently begun learning English after talking their parents into letting them attend public school._

_Lying on his stomach in front of his sister, Gunther switched the peach-colored crayon for one labeled __**teal**__ to color the fish-like tail that made up the lower half of the girl in his picture. She was waving and had a big smile on her lopsided-circle face._

"_I like mermaids," answered Gunther simply in English. He did better than Tinka with it, so he enjoyed speaking it as much as he could just to annoy her._

"_Why? Fairies are better." Tinka stuck with their usual dialect, her lips tightening the only clue towards her annoyance that her twin was better than her, once again, at something._

_Looking up, Gunther saw Tinka begin to color her girl's dress purple. The girl looked like she was in _attitude_, like what the twins had learned at Fancy Nancy's. She had large, butterfly-like wings, not colored in yet._

"_Just because they can fly?" Gunther began switching between languages._

"_Of course! Everyone wants to fly!"_

Once the lines were finally done, Gunther tossed the canvas onto his bed and used the small bottle of hand sanitizer kept on his desk to clean the graphite from his right hand. It was almost eight, Squitza and Kashlack still out by themselves (at Baba's insistence); Tinka in her room, likely going between homework and texting Ty and/or Dina; and Katka was still working on the needlepoint she'd been working on for a few weeks now.

On the desk next to the laptop was Gunther's finished essay. He'd fought to find the needed amount of words, having to reread the section from _Paradise Lost_ twice. Gunther had finally decided that it sounded like Milton blamed Adam as much as Eve, the man caught up in a diatribe to heap all of the blame onto Eve and how his only sin had been loving her too much, _wah, wah, wah_. Adam had gotten on Gunther's nerves by the end of the essay, and he was glad to be done.

Next to the essay were the notecards for _The Duchess of Malfi_ and _Madame Bovary_, and Gunther was almost finished with his essay (he thanked God it only needed to be one-hundred-fifty words) of how Bosola could be considered a tragic hero. He only needed to proofread it, so he minimized iTunes on his laptop and went back to work on his other essay, where he had to talk about fate leading to Emma's downfall and whether or not she had any control over her own destiny.

After typing up the introductory essay, Gunther had to bring up Sparknotes to go back over the novel, though he really wanted to start painting. He had always preferred pictures over words. They were able to tell the whole story without having to come right out and spelling it out for the audience. Everyone was completely free to make his or her own interpretation, feel whatever the piece made him or her feel.

"_I like mermaids," Gunther repeated. "They go on adventures, like Ariel in that movie Frau Carson let us watch."_

"_Fairies can go on adventures, too!" Tinka defended as she began coloring her fairy's wings._

_Gunther let it go, picking up a brown crayon for his mermaid's hair before deciding to switch it for red. He liked red hair. It was rare. There were only two or three people in their grade with red hair, and Ariel had had red hair as well._

_The twins kept coloring, Squitza sticking her head into their bedroom to make sure they were behaving. She smiled at her children coloring quietly and went back to make lunch for them._

_Biting the inside of his cheek, Gunther stopped himself from bringing up the conversation again. He wasn't sure how to explain his adoration of mermaids. He wasn't even all that sure of it himself, really. He did, but he pushed it back whenever the thought popped up, making him confused on the point. Apa had gotten mad at him those years ago when he would put on Tinka's skirts or dresses. Anya had chastised him a year after that for wanting that one-piece swimsuit with the frills on the straps and for playing dress-up._

_So how could he say that he liked mermaids due to the face there was nothing down there? That it was just a tail and none of _those_ parts?_

_Gunther didn't know, so he kept silent on the issue._

After both essays were done, Gunther began mixing his paints, papers moved onto his bed and laptop scooted over to make room for the canvas and palette. He also took the old hand-towel out of the bottom desk drawer, which he used for wiping off his brushes. He'd already gotten the cup he used for water, moving mug cup of tea onto the dresser—he didn't need to get the two mixed up again; his taste buds still had not forgiven him.

"Gunther?" Tinka stuck her head into the room.

Looking up right as he was about to dip the brush into the crimson paint, Gunther inquired, "Yes? Is something wrong?"

While the twins usually spoke English to one-another, they oftentimes ended up speaking in either German or the dialect of their father's region, so the two spoke low to keep Katka from listening in.

Coming into the room with Thirteen at her heels (and therefore Mut trailing right behind as well), Tinka moved aside the essays and notecards and sat on the foot of the bed. She was already in her leopard-print pajamas, though her hair was still in the ponytail positioned at the right side of her head, ruffled ribbons spinning around the honey-colored locks.

Eyes on the floor with her black cat blinking up at her, Tinka looked troubled. "I keep thinking about what CeCe had said to you."

Setting the brush and canvas down, Gunther turned in his chair, looking at Mut playing with Thirteen's tail for a moment before moving his eyes up to his sister's face. "I'm sorry if it—"

"Stop." She shook her head vigorously and took a deep breath. "You do not need to apologize. You were just telling me what you were talking about, and I am glad you did." She took another deep breath and tried to speak more slowly. "It's just… Even though you're becoming close to CeCe, and she knows about you, and you started hanging out with Ty and Deuce…"

A smile crossed Tinka's lips as Thirteen leapt up into her lap, and Gunther grabbed Mut, taking her onto his lap.

Scratching Thirteen behind his ears, Tinka continued before her brother could say something: "But maybe we should see if you can talk to a psychologist as well."

"What?" Gunther blinked, not quite sure if he heard right.

The only time he and Tinka had ever considered a psychologist was back when they were still kissing up to Gary. He still remembered when it had been mentioned in the apartment, Baba inquiring to what a psychologist was for.

At the time, Gunther had shrugged as Tinka told her, "They pretty much get paid to listen to your problems and give advice."

Katka had scoffed as she went back to knitting, muttering, "That was what friends and family were for in my day, and they did it for free."

Gunther and Tinka had agreed, both always acting as counselor for the other when needed. In the Hessenheffer home, it was believed people relied too much on the physical, material world, and all anyone really needed was Grace. God could heal anyone of anything. People just needed to have faith.

Why was Tinka suggesting this? Also, even if Gunther started going to a psychologist, how would they pay for it?

"_I can't believe those two imbeciles spent _all_ of their money," laughed Tinka as she and Gunther headed back to their apartment from the _Shake It Up!_ studio._

"_I know!"_

_Gunther and Tinka had been saving up their money ever since they first started getting their allowances, kept in special spots in their rooms, seeing as the bank their parents used would not allow them to create accounts for themselves (which would be joined to their parents', of course) until they were sixteen._

_Fixing the golden necklace with her name as the charm, Tinka cleared her throat, mind obviously slipping elsewhere. "Um… So vill you be telling—"_

"_No," answered Gunther firmly, knowing exactly what his sister was thinking about. This was the one thing they had always argued about, Tinka wanting Gunther to seek help so he can find peace, and Gunther just praying that the problem will go away._

"_I just vant you to be happy," Tinka murmured, fiddling with her necklace, tendrils of hair falling out of her bun and around her face._

"_I'm fine."_

"_No you're not. I can tell." Tinka's eyes moved up to try and meet Gunther's, but he would only stare ahead, jaw set. "I believe dat God vants us to be happy. Don't you think that—"_

"_That's not God talking." The firmness in Gunther's voice wavered._

_Shaking her head, Tinka whispered, "Do you really think dat? Or is that your fear saying eet?"_

_The two walked the rest of the way in silence._

Eyes on the cream-colored carpet, Gunther began scratching Mut's chest and stomach when she rolled over and exposed it for him. "Why do you want to insist on this?"

Ever since the two had stopped getting homeschooled and entered public schools, learning more about other people, cultures, and beliefs, Tinka had been doing more and more research on what it was her brother was going through, not just wanting to be a shoulder to cry on anymore. As much as she could do by listening and letting him know she was there as support and love, there was only so far that could go. Tinka learned that through her readings, but Gunther didn't want to listen.

It didn't matter that Tinka had put a name to what Gunther was going through—first Gender Dysphoria, then Gender Identity Disorder, and now Transgender (though she kept switching between that and Transsexual, neither quite sure about the distinction).

It didn't matter that Tinka could find stories, testimonies, and groups (mostly online) of people that went through many (if not all) of the same things.

None of that mattered. Gunther was expected to be a good, God-fearing son, and that was what he needed to be.

Taking one of the ribbons out of her ponytail, Tinka held it over Thirteen, the black cat pawing at the mauve fabric.

"Apa and Anya want you to be someone I know and you know you are not. There are people who specialize with people who identify—"

"If I 'identified' as a unicorn—"

"That is _far_ from what this is and you know it!" Her eyes moved up from Thirteen and seemed to burn into Gunther's.

After a moment, Gunther had to look down, unable to meet his sister's gaze.

She didn't notice when Thirteen yanked the ribbon out of her hand, running out of the room with it, and Mut jumped down from Gunther's lap to go after him.

Shaking her head, Tinka whispered, "You're just repeating what Apa says. He keeps yelling about what God wants, but, Gunther, do you remember that verse I really like? The one I have framed over my bed?"

Eyes still on the ground, Gunther gave a nod. At one point, Tinka had tried to get into calligraphy, and in crooked script on parchment above Tinka's bed were a quote and a picture of a Celtic cross in the corner with vines branching out above and to the left of it:

**Be happy always. Pray continually.  
****~ 1 Thessalonians 5:16-17**

"But how do I know that would bring me any sort of happiness?" Gunther's voice was low, tone unwavering so his question sounded more like a statement.

"If our religion teaches us anything, it is that we _don't_ know everything. We _don't_ know what the future will bring. We must just trust Him. We must have faith."

"Yes, trust Him with the body He gave me."

Gunther knew he was only reiterating his father's words, none of his own conviction behind any of them. He _had_ to believe these words, though. God had also said to honor thy mother and father.

Going to a psychologist, even _contemplating_ that sort of life… That would be dishonoring them. Worse, it would also be breaking another Commandment: If he led that life, he would end up killing their son.

As usual, it was as if Tinka had just read his mind, tears beginning to slide down her cheeks.

"He also gave you a mind, which does not match that body. He gave you a soul, which I believe has no gender. God is love and wants your love. Why would He want you to torture yourself like this? Please think about speaking to a psychologist. They do not force you to take any of those treatments. They just listen and help you through your feelings about these sort of things. I try to help, but it is obvious you no longer wish to listen, and Apa and Anya have biases that keep them from listening."

"They want to keep me—"

"From a path I believe you are _very_ far away from. A path that you could never end up on just for finding peace with yourself and with others."

She stopped, waiting for a response. When none came, she got up and walked out of the room, pausing when she was at the door.

Her face moved towards Gunther for a brief moment as she whispered, "And you wouldn't be killing their son. You'd only be taking away their illusion. And I've never thought of you as a brother. You were always a _sister_ to me."

Tinka closed the door behind her, and Gunther did what he always did after one of these talks. He turned up his music, grabbed his paintbrush, and got to work. He didn't want to think about this now. He never wanted to think about it, but what if Tinka was right?

It was true he wasn't really listening to her advice anymore. She only wanted him to be happy, to find inner peace. He was scared, though. He didn't want this. Couldn't there just be medicine out there that would make him be happy with being male?


	15. Escaping Fear

**Chapter 15: Escaping Fear**

"_He who fears to suffer, suffers from fear." - French Proverb_

"Rocky! I don't mind if you borrow my textbook, but could you let me know so I don't freak out when it's missing?"

Smirking, Gunther stood at the door leading into the Blue family apartment, still bundled up. According to Ty, the heating system wouldn't be working again for another week if the past was anything to go by.

Knocking on the door, Gunther took a deep breath of the frigid air. He and Ty were supposed to hang out this afternoon. Although Ty had never been the best student in grades K through 12, he was doing much better in college. Also, his best subject had always been history, which was Gunther's worst—usually with English following as a close second. Ty had offered to help, which was wonderful, since Gunther still had his project and paper due as well as a big test next Friday. Sometimes, Gunther wondered if just waiting to do some of this in the summer wouldn't be so bad.

It didn't take long for Ty to answer the door, looking a little frazzled. In one hand was a paperback textbook, likely the one Rocky had pilfered from his room. It made Gunther smile as he thanked Ty while he let him into the apartment. There had been times where Gunther had seen Rocky reading a physics book or doing problems in various math texts for fun, to work her mind. It was nice hearing that part of her personality was still intact, when all the times he'd seen Rocky, she was quiet, looking like she was trying to perfect making herself invisible to everyone around her.

Tossing the book over to the couch, Ty tightened his navy coat around his body and wrapped his scarf around his neck again to where his mouth was covered. "Sorry, but I'm gonna hafta split for a bit. My mom just texted, saying she needs groceries for a party she and Dad are hosting tomorrow. I shouldn't be too long. There's tea in the cabinet by the stove, or you can have some coffee. Water's already on the stove. See ya in a bit, Sparkles."

Ty grabbed the canvas bags from the coat rack next to the door before leaving, looking like he was about to tip his hat before realizing he was wearing a ski cap instead of one of his signature fedoras. He then just gave a two-finger salute before apologizing again and closing the door behind him.

Blinking, Gunther turned to look towards the archway leading towards the bedrooms and bathroom, and he then slowly made his way to the kitchen, feeling very awkward. Never having had close friends before, Gunther wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to react in this sort of situation. He'd heard on television and movies where the guest was offered to "make him/herself at home", but how exactly could he feel that way when he had only been here once before.

Remembering where Ty had gotten the mugs from last time, Gunther set his backpack by the square table and went to get a mug. As soon as he opened the cabinet, a door to his right opened.

Freezing in place was Rocky, her hair actually pulled back away from her face (clean of any make-up) for once. She blinked slowly, eyes shining like she could have been crying, though it was hard to tell.

"Oh" was all she said, eyes downcast as if worried Gunther could tell she had shed tears not long ago. "Um, I thought you would have left with Ty."

Setting the mug onto the counter, Gunther softly replied, "He said to just vait here, since he'd be back soon."

"Ah." The way Rocky drummed her fingertips along the frame and how one of her knees kept bending and locking almost like a twitch, it was like she was still debating on whether to go into the kitchen or just run back into her room.

"Um… I'm making some tea. Would you like any?" Gunther spoke slowly and awkwardly, not really sure about offering something to the girl when this was her apartment, but he felt like he should offer her something, try to talk to her.

Retreating from everyone, blocking out even the people she had been closest to, looking like she could burst into tears at any stray word… Maybe misery liked company because it made it easier to find someone who could understand those feelings. Understand, and help elevate them.

Head turning as if really wanted to just hole herself away, Rocky hesitated. After a moment, though, politeness finally won out. Rocky Blue wasn't a girl that would make a guest do things in her home himself. She would be a good and gracious hostess and offer courtesy. The fact that she was not the one who had invited him did not fit into that equation.

"I'll do it." She cleared her throat, voice still sounding like she did not use it often. "Go ahead and sit at the table. What kind of tea do you like?"

As she got down a second mug, Gunther responded, "I drink herbal, mostly. I was going to look through what you have."

"I got a box for Christmas." There was both pride and sadness in that sentence. "It has orange, jasmine, chamomile, lemon, and peppermint, all loose." She grabbed two strainers out of a drawer. "I like to mix-and-match sometimes."

Smiling, Gunther told her, "Chamomile with lemon and a little peppermint sounds good. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Rocky set the long, wooden box carefully onto the counter as if containing treasure. "So why'd you come?" She paused, her next words quick: "Sorry if that sounds rude."

She still had not turned around to meet Gunther's eyes, and while her movements looked somewhat jerky, words changing between comfortable and forced, it really looked like she desperately wanted someone to speak to—_really_ speak to—but was terrified of branching out. Terrified that doing so would cause her to fall. A fall like that could be devastating. Maybe not deadly, but agonizing to the point of death being preferable.

"No, eet's alright," Gunther assured with a small chuckle to try and get Rocky to calm down. "I am having trouble catching up in history, so Ty offered to help."

Nodding, Rocky prepared the tea. "Mrs. Saks or Mr. Carlo?"

"Carlo."

"Ooh, tough grader."

Nearly everyone at school knew about how Rocky had taken extra classes her first two years of high school, making it to where most of her classes this year were electives. Gunther vaguely remembered passing by the counselor's office when Rocky was defending herself, trying to convince Ms. Sellers that she was up for the challenge. It now looked like she had been more than up for it, and she could probably have graduated already if she'd wanted to, though Gunther didn't know all of the details. If Rocky had down-spiraled as much as CeCe, Deuce, and Ty had let on, it was possible that she could have failed a class or two last year.

"Yeah," Gunther sighed. "Lucky, I am doing better in English than usual, and my science teacher does not give much vurk."

"Mr. Clemmens?" inquired Rocky, pouring the water into the mugs when steam began to lift out of the kettle's spout.

"Yeah."

"Yep, he hates grading as much as we hate getting work. Just make sure to get good grades on all his tests. He doesn't give many, and with no homework grades to help out…"

She trailed off, though it sounded like it was because she was letting Gunther finish the thought rather than not wanting to talk anymore. Even if they were only speaking of school, talking was talking. This was probably the most Rocky had spoken to anyone in some time, and Gunther felt glad he could be the person she spoke to.

"I get it," said Gunther softly with another small chuckle. He already knew about how much some students struggled to pass Mr. Clemmens's class, but science was usually a class he did well in, so he wasn't too worried. "Sometimes I vunder why he even went into teaching, though."

Rocky's laugh was short and soft, but it sounded natural. Her eyes remained on the tea as she waited for the dried herbs to steep for a good amount of time, but she no longer seemed quite as wound-up as she did a moment ago.

"Um, which of Ty's books did you take?" Gunther questioned. "I heard him yelling through the door when I arrived."

A bit of tightness returned to Rocky's shoulders (though it was freezing, she only wore a long-sleeved top with navy-and-grey horizontal stripes, a sweater wrapped around her tiny waist), and Gunther wished he could take his question back. He knew of times where he was in a type of mood, so close to the edge of that cliff where just about any word could shove him over the edge.

Something as small as seeing a certain outfit or hearing a certain song could make him nearly drown in those freezing waters, and Gunther mentally scrambled to figure out what he'd said in that question that could have led Rocky straight for that cliff's edge.

He could think of nothing, and he mentally sighed in relief when he saw her shoulders ease again, gloved hands clenching and unclenching at her sides one, two, three, four, five, six, seven times. It looked like a calming-down ritual, something physical needed to be done to help her out of a certain mental state.

Once the ritual was done, Rocky began to take the strainers out of the mugs, placing them into the chrome sink. Her words were back to being as soft and unsure as when she'd first come out of her room.

"His bible textbook. It… it goes into the bible from a literary and historical perspective rather than just straight-up preaching." The tone turned almost bitter at the end, like she wanted to spit them out.

_Religion_, thought Gunther. _That must be the sore spot._

He remembered CeCe mentioning how spiritual Rocky was and how she'd thought that might have been why she hadn't talked to her about that kiss. Gunther hadn't thought religion could have been the only reason if Rocky had been _avoiding_ CeCe, but even if it wasn't the _only_ reason, it sounded like it could be a big one.

Could she be struggling with faith like Gunther was?

Yet, Gunther wasn't to the point of reacting the way Rocky had at just the mention of the subject. Had something happened with her at her church, maybe? Ty had said it hadn't taken him long to piece together what had happened at that party. Could the same maybe be said about Mr. and Mrs. Blue? By what CeCe had said of them, they could have sent Rocky straight to a counselor or psychologist tied to their church if they'd found out about it.

"Sounds interesting" was all Gunther could think of to say.

Bringing the mugs over to the table and sliding the one with a picture of what looked like a Shinto shrine with a sunset in the background over to Gunther, Rocky let out a long breath, eyes closed as she sat down.

"It is," she said finally.

She shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable, but the expression on her face made it look like she wanted to share. She had always been someone that loved spreading her knowledge. Not necessarily a know-it-all, just someone who loved to learn and was always excited to babble on about the new information she'd obtained, like a small child showing off his or her new toy.

The shine in her dark brown eyes showed that excitement, though it was like before: She wanted to share, branch out, but fear kept whispering into her mind, telling her to pull back, to hide away.

Fear always abused in that way, whispering sweet nothings, promising it had to do with being safe when it was all about control. Fear still had its talons deep into Gunther's heart, but he was hoping to help Rocky loosen its hold on hers. Maybe it could make fear begin to release him as well.

As Gunther opened his mouth to speak, Rocky finally allowed herself to go against Fear's orders:

"I've been researching a lot about theology, especially the Abrahamic religions." She took a sip of her tea, short, unpainted fingernails clinking along the rim of the glass mug when she set it back down. "I've been taking notes from Ty's textbook and other books I can find."

Taking a sip of his tea, Gunther smiled. By Rocky's tone, she seemed more and more like that little kid with a new toy—more and more like the old Rocky excitedly explaining the Schrödinger's cat thought experiment or how the basic reasoning behind Carroll's _Alice in Wonderland_ were the abstract ideas being introduced into mathematics in his time.

"Um, want something to eat?" Rocky got up and headed for the fridge. "There's still a little bit of chocolate pie left, and my mom was trying out a new pie recipe yesterday. She called it a 'dud', but it's still good. It's caramel and sea salt."

"The second one sounds good," said Gunther. He loved caramel, and he had tried a caramel-and-sea-salt frappe at Starbucks with Tinka before they'd left for Japan. He was sure that something Mrs. Blue had made would taste even better, even if she did call it a dud.

"It is." Rocky got a couple of small plates down from the cabinet next to the refrigerator as well as a knife from a drawer.

"With how cold it is in here, I'd tink you vould not need the fridge," Gunther joked.

Rocky chuckled at that. "As long as the wind's not bad, I'm usually fine with cold. Mom and Dad used to joke about how I was so warm-blooded and Ty's cold-blooded, since I like it when it's cold but can't stand it when it gets too hot, and Ty's the opposite."

She brought the pie to the table and handed a fork to Gunther.

"Tinka and I both are okay with the cold, but she alvays cannot vait for eet to start getting warm. Our mother is de same, but our father hardly ever even needs a coat." He gave a small laugh and took a bite of the pie. It really was delicious, and he savored the creamy bite before swallowing.

Taking a sip of tea, Rocky gave a nod. "So where are you in history now?"

"Crimean War." He took another bite of pie, followed by some tea.

"Ah, I had more trouble with that chapter." It was rare Rocky would admit having trouble in school, and her eyes moving down to the table showed she hadn't meant to let that slip. Yet, it was too late to take it back, so she expanded: "Just some stuff going on here, so I didn't have as much time to study, and I usually do better in math and science anyway."

"Same, though class can get annoying. Eet is like people in class expect me to get an _A_ just because I am originally from Europe." Gunther rolled his eyes.

Smiling, Rocky swallowed her bite of pie before replying, "But it's not like all of _them_ aced American history."

"Exactly."

The two were silent for a while, Gunther beginning to wonder where Ty was. He could see by the way Rocky's eyes moved from the direction to her room to the table that she was still debating whether to talk or give in to fear. He really couldn't blame her if she left.

The two of them had never been close, and he and his sister had teased and taunted them for years. Still, she must have seen that he was willing to be kind now, and sometimes talking to someone one did not know well could help. Maybe that was what Tinka was hoping for, bringing up the topic of seeing a psychologist last night.

"Hey," said Rocky in a low voice, "um—"

"Hey, hey, hey!" called Ty as he entered the apartment, cutting off his sister.

_Great timing,_ Gunther mentally grumbled.

Almost looking like she was scrambling, Rocky went to get the groceries from her brother. "I'll get it," she told him. "You can go ahead and start with your tutoring."

Looking like he wasn't sure whether to smirk or glare, Ty retorted, "Ha-ha, I'm actually tutoring someone. Laugh it up."

Gunther stifled a laugh as he took another bite of pie. He took out his history book and notes, sliding his plate and mug to make room. Ty sat to his right, stealing a couple of bites from his sister's slice of pie as Gunther flipped the right page.

"You can finish that," Rocky said as she put away the eggs and packs of meat. "I'll just take my tea into my room."

"You sure?" inquired Ty, looking like he didn't want his sister to go back to hiding.

"Yeah." Rocky set the loaves of bread onto the counter along with the bag of lemons. "I got some of my own studying to do."

"Alright."

Although Ty wanted Rocky to stay and maybe actually talk to people, he seemed content that she looked to have ventured out some, even if only for a while. Also, he looked like he didn't want to push her. It would only end up having her move back, not forward.

After taking a sip of tea, Gunther offered the girl a smile as she went to put the canvas bags onto the coat rack. "It was nice talking to you."

Her eyes only flickered his way, her body language saying she was back to allowing Fear to cocoon her, digging its claws back into her heart. Yet, by her small smile, it definitely looked like its hold had loosened. Even if it wasn't much, it was something.

"Nice talking to you too," she whispered before scurrying back to her room and shutting the door behind her.

Looking back at the door and then turning back, Ty had a huge, almost relieved, smile on his face, dark eyes glittering. He looked at Gunther as he slid the textbook closer to him. "I don't think she's ever talked that much, not in over a year." It looked like Ty wouldn't have been able to wipe the smile away even if he'd tried. "Thanks."

Gunther didn't feel like he'd been the one helping; rather, he was the one being helped. Talking to Rocky, feeling as if he were seeing himself, just in a different body, he started to think maybe Tinka was right. He was still very scared about sharing what he'd been keeping back for so long, but maybe he could finally escape Fear.

And maybe Rocky could as well.

Nodding, Gunther replied, "Sure ting. I'd like to speak to her again some time."


	16. Finding Like-Minds

**Chapter 16: Finding Like-Minds**

"_Sometimes people hold a core belief that is very strong. When they are presented with evidence that works against that belief, the new evidence cannot be accepted. It would create a feeling that is extremely uncomfortable, called cognitive dissonance. And because it is so important to protect the core belief, they will rationalize, ignore and even deny anything that doesn't fit in with the core belief." - Frantz Fanon_

The tantalizing scent of Marcie's spiced apple pork tenderloin, sweet potato casserole, and bread pudding filled the apartment, probably throughout the floor each time the door opened, letting in more people from church. Ty offered a smile and handshake to each person, many of whom he'd known since he was in diapers.

Next to him was Rocky, hair pulled back so tight, Ty was sure it couldn't be comfortable. Marcie had been working on the girl's hair in-between checking on the food, Rocky's long, soft locks twisted into coils drawn back into a tight bun.

She wore her overcoat (unbuttoned) over a simple black dress with stockings their mother had laid down for her, and Ty was trying not to scratch his legs through the dark grey, wool slacks. He had only taken off her navy coat long enough to put on the long-sleeved, button-up shirt his parents had chosen for him, but he didn't see the point if he wasn't going to take off his coat. Everyone else seemed to be keeping on their coats and sweaters as well, only a few venturing as far as taking of their scarves and gloves.

By seven o'clock, nearly twenty people had arrived, Ty's face feeling sore from the constant smiling. He had nothing against his church or any of the people in it. He sometimes had to remind himself of that.

Did he sometimes disagree with them?

Sure.

Did he ever voice these disagreements?

Of course not.

To do so would only bring him grief, not only at the church, but at home as well. If Ty had questions about contradictions in the bible, he'd stay silent on the issue and simply nod along to the pastor or group leader. If he didn't agree that homosexuality or marrying a divorced woman or man was a sin, he'd simply stay silent when nearly everyone else echoed, "Amen."

The only time he had ever tried to speak out was when his small group leader (either ninth or tenth grade; he couldn't recall) had made a quip about Catholics not being actual Christians, how they only used God and Jesus as a disguise to worship false idols. Even now, when Ty's old small group leader saw him, he'd call him a "pagan-lover" (always in a joking manner but still made Ty a little angry).

Of course, Marcie and Curtis had heard about their son speaking out, and while they didn't mind Ty being friends with people with different beliefs, they wanted their son to stand strong in his faith and let it be a light to the others to find Truth, not to become dim by the confusion of others. This mindset annoyed Ty to no end, but as bad as it was for him, all he could think about was how bad this must all be for his little sis.

Taking one of her brother's hands as well as a hand of Mrs. Shea as Curtis led them all in prayer before they could begin eating. Out of the corner of his eye, Ty could see Rocky staring at the floor, jaw set. She looked so lonely, and Ty gave her hand a quick squeeze, her muscles beginning to loosen at the small gesture. She needed to know she wasn't in isolation. She had him here for her. She _always_ would.

"O Lord," Curtis rang out in a loud, sure voice, "bless this food we are about to eat, and we pray You, Father, that it will be good for us, body and soul. Also, if there is any poor, lost soul, hungry or thirsty, walking along the road, send them to us, so we may share the food with them, just as You share your gifts with us. Amen."

"Amen," echoed the others, Rocky and Ty joining half-heartedly.

Ty was confused, always going back and forth when it came to his opinion on the church. His belief in the Father, Son, and Spirit had never wavered; always, it was his faith in the institution set up for worship of that trinity he doubted.

Everyone getting food—with nearly everyone having brought something, there was plenty to go around—and chatting about the sermon last Sunday and bible study meeting from Wednesday. There were also kids with three being the youngest and sixteen being the oldest, who had come with their parents, some others having stayed home with various excuses (the most popular one was working on a huge project), and Ty went with Rocky and four of the other kids in the living area while the youngest stayed close to their parents near the kitchen.

"So why wasn't the location for this thing changed?" joked Terrence, trying to break the awkward silence. Although they all knew each other from church, few of them hung out any other day than Sunday (or sometimes Wednesday for those that attended youth group).

Trying for a giggle, Jada pushed the cauliflower-and-spinach salad around her plate. "Yeah, I'm _freezing_! It always like this?"

"Pretty much every winter," Rocky replied with a sigh. She still looked like she would be happy being anywhere else, but she did look more at-ease than before. "But of course the AC broke during the hottest summer in the past decade, so this is actually preferable."

"Speak for yourself!" laughed Ty, his smile no longer forced.

Still shivering some underneath his coat and fingers feeling awkward holding the plate and fork while donned in leather gloves, Ty hated the cold. He used to joke that one reason he wanted to be a famous rapper was that LA was _warm_ throughout the year.

The others laughed, making small-talk about school, friends, and some about Sunday school and youth group. Their church was much larger than it had a decade ago, but the families in the Blue apartment tonight had known each other for years. They sometimes compared the current pastor to the ones of the past, as well as talking about others at the church—of course none of them called it gossiping, though.

After finishing her share of Marcie's casserole, Kathryn inquired, "So, Rocky, how come you haven't been around youth group as often?"

There was no judgment or anything that said she knew about Rocky's secret in those large, hazel-blue eyes, but Ty still compared the question to a warning shot. As much as he and Rocky both wanted her to be able to be truthful about her opinions on religion, both knew that to do so would instantly have her cut off from an entire community. Even their parents would become overbearing, questioning her worse than detectives during interrogations in those shows, and forcing her to see counselors at the church to help her through this "crisis of faith".

Ty couldn't stand seeing his sister forcing herself through living out a lie, but she couldn't risk the fall-out of coming out, at least not until she had a steady support system in case their parents cut her off—as much as neither were willing to entertain such a thought, Rocky had been the first to admit it was a possibility.

"Dual enrollment requires a lot more work than I thought," replied Rocky with a dry chuckle. She finished off her salad. "I didn't do as well as I usually do last year, so I was hoping this would help out my GPA."

As Kathryn nodded, Lanelle joked, "Oh, you've slipped down to a four-point-eight?" She tucked some of her dark, chin length hair behind her right ear, showing off the large, golden hoop hanging from the lobe even more.

"Ha-ha," Rocky responded as Terrence teased her: "Not turning into an atheist are you?"

"Hey, don't be sayin' stuff like that so loud," Jada whispered (almost a hiss), turning to glance at the adults for a quick moment.

_Thank you Lord for Jada!_ Ty cheered in his mind as he cast a quick glance towards Rocky, whose eyes had only widened for a moment, though her smile was now strained again.

Jada continued, the others not noticing Rocky's sudden discomfort: "Do you know how bad my parents flipped when they found that book, _Godless_, in my room?"

Right as Lanelle asked, "You actually read something like that?", Len questioned, "Since when do you read?"

Kathryn elbowed her cousin in the ribs, though she tried not to smile at that as Jada rolled her eyes. Len just laughed, running a hand through his spiked-up, dark brown-black hair, balancing his plate on one knee while perching on the arm of the brown couch, Kathryn on the cushion next to him with Ty and Rocky in the middle and Jada on Rocky's other side.

It was then Terrence on the other arm with Lanelle and Danica on the chairs set up on the other side of the coffee table and Peter between them, squatting on the floor. With their fairly tight circle and the adults caught up in their own conversations, it was likely their turn in conversation couldn't be heard, though they all seemed to be aware of the risks of keeping this turn going.

Could it be Rocky wasn't the only one living a lie? Ty definitely knew he couldn't be the only one having doubts about the strict dogma of their church, but when people remained silent, it could be near-impossible to find like-minds.

"It's my friend's, Evie's. She shoulda known better than to bring a book like that to my place, and now my mom doesn't want us hangin' out." Jada rolled her eyes. "Now she makes me say the prayer before we eat, and she watches to make sure I pray every night and read my bible. What? Does she really think my faith's so weak just reading one book would completely destroy it?" She shook her head and finished off her piece of pork tenderloin.

"If you want a parent freak-out," said Len in a low voice as Kathryn and Lanelle looked over at the adults to make sure they weren't listening to them, "you should have seen my mom when she found _To Ride a Silver Broomstick_ in our living room, hidden under the phone book." He set his mostly-finished plate onto the coffee table and pushed his large, Urkel-esque glasses up the flat bridge of his nose, glancing over where his parents were. "It was actually Collins', but I took the fall. No way mom would have wanted to accept her 'perfect little girl' was 'entangling herself with that witchcraft nonsense'." Len used air-quotes.

Collins was Len's older sister, a year older than Ty and had usually been pointed at by Marcie and Curtis as being a prime role model. She'd always been modest in appearance, Ty remembered, and she had always gotten top grades and was studying to get into MIT. Ty sometimes got sick of hearing about her, but hearing this little tidbit intrigued him, making him listen more closely.

"_To Ride a Silver Broomstick_," whispered Ty, trying to think if he'd heard that title before. "Is that like _Harry Potter_?"

His parents hadn't let him or Rocky read those books or watch the movies, saying they'd tempt them down dark paths. They also hadn't been able to join the Pokémon, Digimon, or Yu-Gi-Oh crazes.

"Ooh, Mama wouldn't let me read those," Danica commented. "I watched the first and second movies with my friend, though. She _loved_ everything that had to do with the books. She still won't let me live it down that I didn't think the movies were all that. Guess I expected more with the huge deal everyone made."

"Same," muttered Kathryn as Terrence and Rocky nodded.

Ty gave his own nod, remembering how he'd watched _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire _with Deuce and a couple other friends. He thought it might be due to not having watched the first three, but he hadn't been all that into it, and he had never been a big reader, preferring movies, mostly action (and of course, he liked the occasional romance and "tear-jerker", but that was something he liked to keep to himself).

"Yeah, with me too." Len moved to sit cross-legged at the end of the coffee table. "But the book my mom found was a book that taught about Wicca."

Hand going over his mouth to keep from spitting out food as he laughed, Terrence questioned, "You mean those people that believe they're 'real witches'?" He said the last two words in a more hushed, sinister-sounding tone than the rest, moving his eyebrows and eyes dramatically as if they were plotting something.

Jada, Danica, Lanelle, Kathryn, and Peter giggled as Ty smirked and Rocky's lips curved into more than a grimace but still not quite a smile.

Len, however, still did not seem quite as amused at the 'outrageous claim' of the religion he'd mentioned. "Yeah, that's it." While not joining in the joke, he didn't look like he was quite ready to go on the defensive, either. "Collins had been looking into it along with a bunch of other religions. She'd been practically obsessed with research for a while."

Jada turned to look at Rocky. "I swear, sometimes I think she and Ty were switched at birth and she's supposed to be _your_ older sib."

Rocky laughed at that, but there was a certain glint in her eyes Ty recognized as he stuck his tongue out at Jada.

"Real mature," she drawled, rolling her eyes as she always did.

"How'd your mom react?" Danica inquired of Len, looking interested in the conversation.

Finishing off the rest of his food, Len made a sound that was likely a laugh. After swallowing, he replied, "Dad had to calm her down. It looked like she was about to explode, and she'd been about to call someone to have me exorcized, I'm sure." He shook his head. "Anyway, the book ended up in the fireplace, along with anything in my room she deemed 'unsafe'." He used air quotes. "We don't use candles anymore, and she still checks my room from time to time. I had to warn Collins, and I swear, hearing that made her want to get to Massachusetts even faster."

"So she can visit Salem?" Terrence got slapped upside the head by Jada for that. "Ow! Hey, I was only kidding."

Now it was time for Len to roll his eyes, but Peter quickly interjected, making the conversation take another turn—one that _wouldn't_ get them all into deep trouble if one of their parents were to overhear. Ty contributed when needed, Rocky voicing something here and there, though Ty could see she still had that slight gleam in her tired eyes. She wanted to talk to Collins, and she needed to get Len alone to ask how she could contact her.

Ty wanted to be behind his sister one-hundred-percent, but after hearing Len spill something like his sister studying other religions—especially something like Wicca, which was seen as being even more satanic than even atheism in their church—then could he be trusted to keep Rocky's wandering mind a secret?

It was already understood by everyone in the circle not to go blathering to their parents about Collins, Len, or Jada, and Ty suspected every one of them had some secret being kept from their parents, possibly even Lenelle and Peter, who had always been seen as the most dedicated to their faith—though, Rocky had too, and others probably still saw her as such.

Also, there had been that look crossing Len's face when Terrence had made those jokes. Was Len studying Wicca as well? Some other religions? Was he only attending church because of his parents?

Glancing at Len as he excused himself to the restroom, and then Rocky as she made up an excuse by remembering she was expecting a call from her manager at the restaurant she worked at, Ty thought that maybe Len _could_ be a valuable ally—a friend for Rocky to start coming out of her shell more and sort out all the crap she'd been going through these past few years.

Maybe that had been the point of telling Len's story—to find his own allies.

As he half-listened to the conversation, Ty slowly smiled. _Maybe my baby sis _can_ find some inner peace here after all._


	17. Chess

**Chapter 17: Chess**

"_I started by just sitting by the chessboard exploring things. I didn't even have books at first, and I just played by myself. I learnt a lot from that, and I feel that it is a big reason why I now have a good intuitive understanding of chess." - Magnus Carlsen_

Neither Gunther nor Tinka liked to think about that such a thing was needed, but they both had to admit that there was every possibility that Gunther could be disowned if he opened up as being trans and even _thought_ about transitioning. Truthfully, Gunther wasn't thinking of either things, but if Kashlack heard about him going to a gender psychologist, of course those would be the first conclusions jumped towards, and why not? Anyone would jump to those same conclusions!

It made Gunther keep considering and reconsidering, worrying, doubting… He just wasn't sure this was the best decision, but Tinka kept assuring him and encouraging him to try coming out to Ty and Deuce as well.

She didn't _push_ him into actions necessarily, but Gunther had to admit if left alone, he'd never have the courage to do anything. It was like in art class. If Mrs. Burnett wasn't so harsh and critical, Gunther wouldn't be so hard-pressed to try his hardest with each project just to impress her. It was similar with Tinka. She may not chastise him (often) or list off where things could have been executed much better (well, maybe she would once in a while), but she would push against her brother, showing her support and love through her advice, which Gunther often did not want to hear.

About telling Ty and Deuce (and also Dina as well), Tinka had a point: Gunther needed strong support—people to stand behind him if their parents refused, just as they feared.

In the library during lunch, Gunther and Tinka worked on the math. Gunther had already gotten applications for a few stores at the Lakeview Mall as well as some shops in North Center. With all his work for school as well as the extra courses he will have to take this summer, Gunther wasn't sure if he'd have the time and energy to take on a part-time job as well, but Tinka was optimistic that he would find a sympathetic employer. She was sure things would work out.

"Just remember," she whispered to him as he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Never cease praying."

_But just who am I praying to?_ Gunther wasn't sure if his brain could handle so many questions, so many doubts.

"How much money do you have out right now?" asked Tinka. She and Gunther were at a back table, Mrs. Burke occasionally looking over at them to make sure no trouble was being caused.

"A little over two-hundred," Gunther responded.

This morning, he had taken eighty dollars out of his account, which was tied with his father's, like Tinka's was. He wanted to have some cash with him just in case the worst happened, and Kashlack would assume the withdrawal was for art supplies, which could become expensive. However, Gunther was nervous about taking too much out in a short amount of time, knowing that his parents would soon grow suspicious about where the money was going. Tinka wanted to help chip in, and she had more money in her account than her brother, surprisingly thrifty considering her superfluous tastes.

Nodding, Tinka murmured, "Okay…"

She looked at the paper where different amounts have been multiplied, divided, added, subtracted…

Still, neither was quite sure about why they were doing this now. There was no guarantee Gunther would be getting any of the jobs, so neither knew just what kind of money he could make. However, Gunther had to admit that he didn't care if all he got was minimum wage at a fast food place at this point. His biggest obstacle was remembering to keep moving forward, no matter how easy sliding back may seem.

With a soft sigh, Tinka closed the five-subject notebook. "Okay, let us put this away for a moment. Have you been able to speak with that girl in Crusty's?"

"Alexia? No." Gunther hadn't been able to go there yesterday, and she had gotten the day off Saturday. "I am going this afternoon, though."

If anything, Gunther could always speak to Alexia's brother, Liam, this coming Saturday. He wasn't even quite sure why he felt the need to talk to either of them. Was it like CeCe's need to talk to him about that boy from Lakeview? Like Ol'ga feeling the need to go on that walk?

As Tinka opened her mouth, the bell rang, signaling the second lunch period ending. The blonde girl then sighed, pulling her hot pink faux-leather jacket back on over her lime green top. "Are you sure you do not want to come then?"

Recently, Tinka had been trying to create a dance club at Dina's prompting. Although they would be graduating in mere months, Tinka knew many other students who thought the club was a great idea, and she only needed a few more signatures—Coach Jameson had already agreed to be the faculty advisor. Gunther had signed the form, but he wasn't sure about joining. He wanted to dance again, but it had mostly been around his room nowadays in-between projects.

"No thank you." Gunther bade his sister goodbye with a quick hug before the two headed for their classes.

**xxx**

Stopping in front of the doorway that led into the game room, Gunther spotted Alexia smirking as the girl sitting across from her tipped over her king. The dark-haired girl that had lost the chess match then took her books and purse, shaking Alexia's hand before moving to a chair at the round tables at the far side of the room. Alexia reset the chess pieces as one of the guys at the checkers table behind her cheered after doing a double-jump.

Gunther walked into the room, glancing at the ping pong table, where only one guy stood at, looking to be silently counting to himself each time he hit the small ball into the air with the paddle. Another guy watched the guy with the paddle from near where the girl playing chess with Alexia sat down, and before the redhead could get up after setting up the pieces, Gunther sat down across from her.

"Do you have time for a round?" inquired the blond boy, setting down his backpack and taking off his hat and gloves.

Being a part of CeCe's apartment building, the central heating was off for the game room and Crusty's as well, but there were heaters placed in corners of the room, making the space very warm.

Alexia blinked in surprise, but she then seemed to recognize Gunther. She smiled and dropped her large, black purse back onto the floor. "Sure. I have…," she looked at her watch, "thirteen minutes left in my break. Somsri's always pretty easy to beat, and now I don't have to worry about her demanding a rematch after she pouts for a few minutes."

Laughing along with the girl, Gunther unbuttoned his coat and glanced over at the girl with dark eyes and facial structure that said she was Asian, though Gunther wouldn't be able to tell which country. She had her feet pulled up onto the seat, knees against her chest and hands gripping a book with her lips pressed together tightly. The sight almost made Gunther laugh harder, the girl reminding him of when Tinka would throw a tantrum. She would pout just like that, pulling herself into a ball—after she was finished with the screaming and cursing part of course.

"White first," said Alexia, motioning towards Gunther's pieces.

After a moment of thinking, Gunther moved the pawn in front of his king two squares ahead. He didn't play often, and it was always with his father. Katka claimed her hands shook too much, and Squitza never learned, never having wished to do so—Tinka was the same way. However, he remembered how each piece moved as well as a couple of tricks Kashlack had taught him that he claimed could trip up most opponents.

Looking at the board like she thought she might know what Gunther was doing but just wasn't quite sure yet, Alexia moved the pawn in front of her king, though only one square.

"Gunther, right?" asked Alexia as she watched her opponent move his queen to H5. She then chuckled to herself. "Ah, Scholar's Mate, am I right?" Her blue eyes sparkled when they met Gunther's. "Nice. I used that on Somsri for months until she finally caught on, and my brother taught it to me the exact same way, though I caught on after just a few days."

Lips tightening, Gunther nodded and inquired, "Like chess, I am guessing? And yes, Gunther Hessenheffer. Your name is Alexia, right? I remember you from when I came with Ty and Deuce."

Nodding, Alexia smiled, though her eyes still had half-moons beneath them. "Alexia Desmet. Even been in a few local tournaments. Only made it to state once, though, before I was pulled out of public school." A corner of her mouth twitched before she made her expression look like she was perfectly content, her hand moving towards the pawn in front of her queen, moving it ahead two spaces.

Not quite sure of how to proceed now, Gunther took a moment to think of his next move as well as how to keep the conversation moving.

"So how long have you been coming here? You look kinda familiar." Alexia's eyes stayed on the board as she spoke.

Making his move, Gunther responded, "I only started coming to Crusty's in junior high, but I've lived in Chicago since I was little. I vas avay for little over a year-and-a-half. Dad tought I needed time to go back to my roots, vurk with my family, and… I tink 'search your true soul' was someting he also said."

The girl gave a lopsided smile, looking like that content mast had slipped, allowing a flash of sorrow to be visible until she quickly managed to pull the mask on again. She made her move quickly, motion like a snap. "Hate that. Only God knows my soul. Even I'm still trying to get my mind around what makes it up and what it's telling me. No one should believe they can tell me that kind of information. We're not supposed to bare false witness, right?"

Smiling, Gunther nodded, looking up when Alexia suddenly continued in a quick voice:

"I assume you're Christian. Sometimes I assume wrong."

It sounded like she was trying to give a form of apology after realizing some of her bottled bitterness had slipped, the dusting of blush rising to her pale cheeks reinforcing that.

"Christian," Gunther assured, moving one of his knights, thinking he could cut off her queen.

Although Gunther wasn't quite sure the details of what he believed, it was just easier to say he was Christian than go through all of those doubts that kept him up in conjunction with everything else.

He almost envied CeCe for not really caring about religion one way or another. He'd heard some people mention something called a 'God gene', and from what Gunther had heard, it was just believed some were more inclined to latch onto religion than others. Gunther just happened to be one of those people, he guessed, though he figured life could be at least a _little_ easier if he wasn't.

"My brother isn't," said Alexia, fingertips tapping along the table before she moved her queen out of the way of an attack. "Not 'scared for his soul' or anything, don't get me wrong. I've never believed in a literal Hell. Never made sense to me."

Gunther gave another nod. "I've heard some ideas of Hell, all different from what I have been raised learning. I'm Orthodox, and it sounds like Western churches have gotten very different ideas from ours over the years."

Alexia nodded. "Yeah, I'm Catholic, and, actually, the only reason my 'rents let me work here is 'cause they know the Martinez family from church. Anyway, you've peaked my interest. What'd you learn about Hell?"

"God is everywhere, right?"

"Yeah, that's what I was always taught, and it always made more sense to me than that Deist-type view that God just made everything and then just up-and-left."

Gunther didn't know what a Deist was, but he had enough questions as it was. "Well, Hell den is not really separate from God and could even be on the same plane as Heaven, only the people there 'burn'—not physically, like in those different pictures and stories, of course—because dey cannot find the joy of being in God's presence. And we do not believe Hell is eternal. Eet is just temporary, as everyone will be saved."

"I think I like that view more than what I was told."

Making his move, Gunther was about to ask something when Alexia began talking again.

"Liam always said Hell was just a story made up by the Church to scare the people into converting and coming. He doesn't really like religion of any kind, saying it does more harm than good. I don't really think he's right, but there are times where it seems like people use religion as an excuse." She made her move. "Bekka tends to take my side in it." Her lips curved in a smile, eyes lighting up. "She and Liam are good for each other. You coming here Saturday? If anything, Liam would like to hear about Orthodoxy. Even if he's not religious, he's a geek when it comes to learning about it."

"Sounds like a cool guy," said Gunther, studying the board. He couldn't tell just what Alexia was trying to do, but only a small portion of his brain was actually on the game. "I'd like to meet him."

"We'd always been close." She watched as Gunther finally moved, her eyes trained on the board. "If only our parents still wanted to keep up a relationship with him." She blinked and looked up, cheeks turning red again. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't make you—"

"Eet's alright," Gunther assured. "I do not mind listening if you don't mind talking."

Nodding, Alexia took a deep breath. "Thanks. My mom and dad disowned Liam. See, he's transsexual, female-to-male." She looked up as if trying to gauge his expression. It looked like she'd dealt with transphobic people in the past. "He was born Lillian Marie Desmet, but he started transitioning in middle school. He wore guy clothes—changed into them after leaving the apartment—and cut his hair. Mom freaked about that, Dad having to calm her down, saying 'Lilly'"—she used air-quotes and said the name sarcastically—"was just being more modest about 'her' appearance. Liam went to all his teachers, counselor, and principal, saying that even though his records said he was a girl, he was trans-male and preferred the use of male pronouns and his name be Liam. Luckily, most of the teachers understood, but it didn't take long for Mom and Dad to find out what was going on."

Gunther remained silent as Alexia took a few breaths, moving a piece.

"They kicked him out when he was fifteen," Alexia whispered, looking both sad and angry. "Used the bible as an excuse for their decision. 'Whoever is not with the Lord is against Him' and 'Only those that do the will of the Father is our son and your brother.'" She shook her head and scowled. "They try to keep me on a tight leash, but I try to see Liam whenever I can."

"I am very sorry." Gunther was unsure of what else to say.

That story, it sounded like it could have been Gunther's. Getting kicked out and shunned was his biggest fear, and he did not want to make Tinka choose between him and their parents. He wanted to speak to Liam now more than ever.

Taking another deep breath, Alexia glanced at her watch and grabbed her purse. "Sorry to dump on you and run, but I gotta get back to work." She got to her feet and pointed at the board. "Also, your king's trapped. Good game. I'd like to play again someday."

"Same." Gunther shook Alexia's hand and then toppled his king, making the girl chuckle before leaving the room.

_**Sorry it took quite a while, but I was away for a week, and on the last day of the trip, I got sick. -_- Still feeling a little off, but it's not as bad, just some coughing, for the most part. Anyway, I hope everyone liked this chapter, and I will try to get the next one up sooner. :) Also, along with research on transgenderism, I'm also needing some more information about Eastern Orthodoxy (I grew up in a protestant church and hadn't realized how different many of the tenets are). Could anyone help out with that? Maybe tell me some books/websites I can look at? I'm not sure just how much of the information I find will make it into the story, and I probably should have done more research on it earlier, but I would still like to be informed. Thanks to anyone who can help and all of you who have reviewed, favorited, and subscribed. :)**_


	18. Calming the Storms

**Chapter 18: Calming the Storms**

"_There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." - Anaïs Nin_

CeCe's apartment hadn't changed much, except for maybe some new photographs on the walls, one of which looked like CeCe leading the crowd—all holding white candles—at what had to have been the memorial at the Art Institute. The redhead's face was cut almost in half by the shadow of night, but the flame showed the spirit in her eyes clearly. The picture hung next to the fireplace, which currently had a blaze going, Flynn sitting in front of it as he held out a marshmallow on a skewer in front of the vermillion, gold, and crimson tongues as a brown-and-black pug sat behind him, whining like the poor thing had once curiously ventured too close to the fireplace when lit and still had not forgotten.

"Flynn's taken up photography," CeCe informed, catching Gunther's eye as she stripped off her bubble coat and pink pull over along with a faux fur-lined ski cap she'd traded her large pink-and-furry hat for today.

Hearing his name, the dark-haired boy looked up, waving when he spotted Gunther. "Hey, dude. Haven't seen you in a while."

"Been avay," Gunther said simply, taking in Flynn with his wavy hair down and un-gelled, a few of the locks falling in front of his face, which had changed greatly in the course of nearly two years.

Although still clearly recognizable, the angles in his face had become more defined, and his voice showed that it had begun changing some time ago. His hair fell almost to his chin, but it looked like his style hadn't changed much, a coat discarded by the coffee table with gloves and a green ski cap, the boy sporting a zombie-themed T-shirt over a red long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and scuffed sneakers.

The pug seemed to notice Gunther for the first time and barked, CeCe scolding the dog, calling him Jake, as Flynn assured his canine friend there was no danger.

"Your marshmallow's on fire," CeCe informed her brother with a bored voice as she yanked her gloves off of her hands.

"Darn it," hissed Flynn, yanking his marshmallow from the flames and blowing on it. He sighed but put the blackened puffed-up sugar onto a graham cracker anyway along with some chocolate. "Want any?" he asked through a full mouth as Jake paced behind him, making noises that sounded like a mix of a growl, gurgle, and sneeze.

"No thanks," CeCe replied. "Gunther?"

"Dat's okay." He set his backpack down by the magazine-covered coffee table to take off his yak-fur coat and cap. "What have you been up to besides photography, Flynn?"

Swallowing the last of his s'more, Flynn answered, "Eh, caused a bit of trouble my first year of middle school—"

"A _bit_ of trouble?" snorted CeCe with heavy sarcasm, hands going to her hips.

Rolling his dark brown eyes, Flynn wiped the chocolate and marshmallow from his mouth. "The guinea pigs are completely fine, and they found out Randy was lying about his broken arm," he defended, making Gunther curious, yet unsure of whether he actually wanted to know any details. "So Mom found some money to send me to a private school." He gave one of his what-you-gonna-do shrugs. "Hated it at first, but I like it now, and I have a scholarship, even. That's where I started doing photography, and I even got people asking me to do their senior portraits. _Cha-ching_!"

CeCe rolled her eyes as Gunther chuckled, Flynn putting another marshmallow onto his skewer.

Stealing some chocolate from the plate next to her brother, CeCe announced, "Gunther and I will be studying in my room. We got another test coming up."

Turning (and making sure his marshmallow was _out_ of the fire this time), Flynn's thick eyebrows rose. "You _still_ in honors history?"

First sticking out her tongue in a teasing manner, CeCe nodded as she took a bite of the chocolate. "_And_ honors English."

Shaking his head, Flynn went back to roasting his marshmallow. "Dang it, I was hoping you would have dropped out by Christmas break. Now I owe Henry money!" he complained.

"Too bad," sang the redhead in a patronizing way, leading the blond boy to her room, leaving the door open a crack. The coats went onto the floor between the small desk and the door, and their backpacks went by her unmade bed.

"Flynn looks very different," Gunther commented as CeCe got out her Lumia to play music from one of her playlists.

As "Not Gonna Get Us" by t.A.T.u filled the room, CeCe nodded, responding, "Yeah, turns out a lot of the girls he likes like guys with long hair. He might look good with longer hair one day, but, right now, I think he looks like he's three steps away from buying eyeliner, black nail polish, and spiked dog collars."

She shuttered.

Chuckling, Gunther got out his binder and text books. "Don't like goths?"

"That all-black thing and darkness-and-death and Halloween-ie stuff is not my thing." CeCe went ahead and began getting out her books as well. "Some of our dancers were goth and so are some GSA members, so I know I'm stereotyping, but it's just not my style, and I can't really imagine it being Flynn's, so if he starts doing it, I'd be willing to bet money he was just following a group or wanting to impress or shock someone."

Nodding, Gunther remembered the dancers CeCe was speaking of: Sasha, Gerard, and Laila. Sasha had always stood out with her electric-blue hair, her normal clothes often consisting of what CeCe had mentioned (as well as fishnets and tons of silver jewelry), whereas Gerard's look had been more subdued, making him look more "artsy-goth" as some of the other dancers had labeled him. Laila, though, had been in-between, wearing long, dark, flowing dresses for the most part, wearing minimal make-up, and often found reading things like Shakespeare, Poe, Hawthorne, Byron, and Brontë when not on the dance floor.

"Trying hard to be a nonconformist is still conforming," said Gunther, remembering how his ninth grade English teacher had joked there should be a Nonconformist Club at the school and he would be the faculty advisor.

"Yep." The girl jumped back and bounced on her bed, crossing her legs and holding her English book in her lap. "Mind if we start with this? I'm _way_—"

"Not surprised," laughed Gunther, earning a glare as he pulled the chair away from the desk and sat across from CeCe. "You reading _Wuthering Heights_ right now, too?"

"And _Othello_," said CeCe with a nod. "All I can think, though, is that rap I heard from _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ by RSC." She cleared her throat and begun somewhat awkwardly, as if trying to remember the words:

"_Here's a story about a dude called Othello;  
He like white women, and he liked green Jell-O…  
And a punk named Iago, who made himself a menace,  
Because he didn't like Othello, the Moor of Venice."_

She shrugged. "That's all I remember word-for-word except for maybe a few more lines, like 'Now Othello loved Desi like Adonis loved Venus, and Desi loved Othello—'cuz he had a big _sword_', but it's funny. I think that was the only day I stayed awake in English class that year."

Smiling, Gunther remembered watching the first half of that show. He and Tinka had quoted lines from RSC's _Romeo and Juliet_ as well as when Adam had tried to give a "history" of Shakespeare.

Somehow, the two managed to get some actual discussions done about both the novel and the play, Gunther having to show CeCe the No Fear Shakespeare page on Sparknotes where there was a 'translation' for all the Shakespeare plays so she wouldn't be able to use the excuse she had no idea what any of the characters were saying.

"One of the things I'm worried about," said CeCe as they switched out their English texts for their history ones, "is that someone told me they had to memorize a soliloquy from one of the Shakespeare plays for Ms. Rayne's class as well as some lines from something called _The Canterbury Tales_. I heard someone saying those lines in the hall once, and it does _not_ sound like English. I'm not looking forward to reading that book or whatever it is. It sounds even more confusing than Shakespeare!"

Nodding, Gunther remembered hearing something about that, but he had too many things going on in the present to worry about it. He was still waiting for any of the jobs he'd applied for to get back to him, and he and Tinka were spending more time in the library under the guise of studying to look up information on gender psychologists in the area, transgenderism and transsexualism, and even looking at some personal stories of others that had gone through/were still going through what Gunther was dealing with. He and Tinka had learned the difference between the term 'transgender' and 'transsexual', the former being an umbrella term.

Tinka said that made Gunther a transsexual female, but Gunther had only frowned, not sure if he could call himself that. He was open to learning more. He wasn't open to calling himself something he might not be, did not want to be.

It sometimes felt like he should not bother saying or thinking he did not _want_ to be transsexual. That gave weight to the assumption that such a thing was a choice when Gunther knew in his heart that it wasn't. Who would _choose_ this pain? The chance of plummeting from the cliff and into the freezing waters forever? The stigma? The fear and hatred from both the self and those looking from the outside-in?

"Anyone call back?" asked CeCe as she opened her history book.

She knew about Gunther looking for a job as well as his and Tinka's research, offering various websites and books as well as some of her own findings. She had also jokingly said to stay away from any psychiatrist named Dr. Pepper—everyone in _Shake It Up, Chicago!_ had heard of her and Rocky seeing that fake doctor, who still eluded the authorities, last Gunther had heard of the subject.

"No," Gunther sighed.

Index finger tapping lightly at the corner of the page she was on, CeCe's eyes stayed downcast, shadowed by her bangs. In a low voice, she asked, "Have… Okay, don't get upset, please. It's just a thought, but have you ever given any thought to possibly…"

She paused, but Gunther had a feeling about where she was going and stayed quiet, hoping she would take a different turn—yet, a part of him waited in anticipation, wanting to stay on this path. His heart sped up against the wishes of what he thought to be the rational part of his mind. Only, he was starting to think that this part of his mind wasn't rational at all—simply filled with fear, that emotion constantly seeping into the rest of his psyche when he did not want such a thing to happen. He wanted to be done with fear.

Taking a breath and finding enough courage to meet Gunther in the eye, CeCe finished her thought in a clear, sure voice: "I want to give you a make-over. I've been wondering if you'd given any thought to something like that or maybe wearing girls' clothes—get a feel for them."

Rather than Gunther's heart and brain fighting each other, both were fighting separate civil wars.

He wanted to.

He shouldn't.

Someone could find out.

What could _possibly_ be the chances of that?

It just wasn't right.

He was already doing the research; this couldn't hurt.

It _would_ hurt.

Why?

It wasn't natural, and even thinking about this just showed how long he'd strayed.

Now he was just trying to cling onto what his father would say.

He's his father; he had his best interests in mind.

That didn't always mean everything said should be taken straight to heart.

Stop thinking about it!

Don't even think about _doing_ it!

There were males who wore make-up on a pretty constant basis.

That didn't mean he had to!

And Gunther wasn't even male; not _really_.

_STOP!_ Gunther screamed mentally, realizing his text book was on the floor and that his hands were clenched in his lap. His shoulders her hunched, and his eyes stung with the threat of tears.

"—sorry," CeCe was saying quickly. "I didn't mean—"

"You did," Gunther interrupted, voice soft. He took a deep breath and looked up into his friend's bright eyes. "And…" Again, he had to stop the whirlwind of thoughts, much of which sprung from that part of his mind and heart consumed by fear. "I tink… eet's… it's a good idea. I want to do it."

**_The "Othello Rap" is from_ The Complete Works by Shakespeare Abridged by the Reduced Shakespeare Company. I loved the production, and one of my friends and I would often quote from it. X3 Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. :)**


	19. Never Stop Questioning

**Chapter 19: Never Stop Questioning**

"_Man cannot remake himself without suffering, for he is both the marble and the sculptor." - Dr. Alexis Carrel_

Since that day in Anya's room, Gunther had never worn make-up except for the cover-up and occasional eyeliner and -shadow for _Shake It Up, Chicago!_

Sitting in the chair now moved in front of CeCe's vanity mirror, Gunther had his eyes closed, trying not to flinch at the foreign feel of different brushes, some with fairly stiff bristles and some with ones that were very soft. Many of the creams felt cold, a blanket now covering him—with the door closed and locked, the heat from the fire place didn't reach them as much as before, which still hadn't been much.

"Stamp On the Ground" by ItaloBrothers played from CeCe's mobile, Gunther's foot tapping as the redhead hummed, trying to keep her hand steady as she worked. She had pulled her hair back into a messy bun earlier, secured by a chopstick, her bangs pulled and pinned back so she could see well.

It felt like hours before CeCe declared, "_Voilá_!"

Right after opening his eyes, Gunther flinched slightly, blinking hard twice. The face in the mirror did not look like the one he was forced to see every day. The colors used were not as vibrant as the ones he and Tinka had played with at the age of five. The tones of copper, beige, and gold were arranged well and put on to enhance Gunther's lined blue eyes, which looked maybe a smidge bigger than usual. His lips still tingled from the plumper, the color neutral, the shine being the only thing giving the gloss away.

Although only tweezers, thread, or wax could be used to do something about the thick light brown eyebrows—which Gunther had been adamant about leaving alone—they did not do much to take away from the effect CeCe had created. Even the short, sandy locks atop Gunther's head had been styled, still damp from the spray and thus making his head cold (he wished CeCe had thought that part through more). His hair had been brushed forward and to the side, a pink bow clip just above his left ear. The effect made it look like a stylish pixie, albeit still too short for his liking (but of course he knew that there was nothing he could do about that).

Smiling triumphantly, CeCe cocked a hip as she looked at Gunther through the mirror. "Some of my best work, I might say. Mom always said I could always go into cosmetology if dancing didn't work out."

"Wow" was all Gunther could say, his voice barely more than a small gasp.

He had, on occasion, entertained the thought of him trying to pass as a girl in public. Would anyone be able to tell? He was six-foot-two, but he'd seen tall women before, his mother, who was six-foot-even in flats being a good example. He had a wide forehead that tapered down to a chin that was not exactly pointy, but he remembered Kashlack talking about how it looked like he was developing a strong chin, like his late grandfather's. He had never been able to really picture his features as being able to seem feminine, but now, he could. It showed that maybe, just maybe, he could come to a day where he wouldn't hate his image, hate the way nature had screwed up with his body.

Without realizing it, he murmured, "Maybe I could pass as a girl."

Bringing him back to Earth was a thump to the side of his head by CeCe.

"Ow!" Gunther complained. "What was that for?!"

Turning to meet his gaze, the redhead crossed her arms. "For what you just said. What's this 'passing' shit? You don't see _me_ saying 'Maybe I could pass as a girl'." Her voice took on a soft, mocking tone at those last words.

Standing up, Gunther defended, "That's because you _are_ a girl!"

Looking at him right in the eyes, CeCe's next words made Gunther fall right back into the chair: "_So. Are. You._"

**XXX**

Hidden under her mattress and beneath other objects in her closet were the books Rocky had been acquiring, whether borrowed from the library or bought at Half-Price Books. All of the hidden books were about theology and philosophy.

_The God Delusion_ by Richard Dawkins.

_The History of God_ by Karen Armstrong.

_The Naked Gospel: The Truth You May Never Hear in Church_ by Andrew Farley.

_Beyond Good and Evil_ and _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_ by Friedrich Nietzsche, translated by Walter Kaufmann and Graham Parkes, respectively.

_The New Meditation Handbook_ by Gesh Kelsang Gyastso.

_The Republic_ by Plato, translated by Christopher Rowe.

_Crazy Love_ by Francis Chan.

_Tao Te Ching_ by Lao-tzu, translated by J. Legge.

_Nicomachean Ethics_ by Aristotle, translated by W. D. Ross.

_Mere Christianity_ by C. S. Lewis.

_A Theory of Justice_ by John Rawls.

_One Dharma: The Emerging Western Buddhism_ by Joseph Goldstein.

Those were only a few. A book containing passages of the Dead Sea Scrolls along with notes was currently on Rocky's bed, a receipt being used as a bookmark near the middle. Next to it was the Koran, the bookmark still near the beginning. She also had books containing the Apocrypha, a book that spoke of the Kabbalah, and a book that gave a general overview of modern paganism. That one was on her pillow, its due date back to the library tomorrow along with _Witchcraft Today_, _The Lost History of Christianity_, _Jesus and the Lost Goddess_,and _The Path of a Christian Witch_.

Humming along to "Better Off Alone" by Marié Digby playing from her iTunes, Rocky read some of the testimonials on a forum she had found for ex-Christians. Many of the stories she had read sounded like her own life, many of these people having grown up in fundamentalist homes, some still in the closet for their beliefs just as Rocky was. Most of the testimonials Rocky had read were by people who were now atheist (some anti-theists as well), but she also saw those who classified themselves as agnostic, pantheistic, or Deist, and there were also some Zen Buddhists and a few that now followed a path of paganism.

Pouring over these testimonials and articles; spending more time with her stash of books than with her homework or even other people; and writing, deleting, and rewriting her own path through and out of Christianity, Rocky knew she was obsessed. Was she obsessed because a part of her was still Christian, and that part wanted to convince the rest of her?

If that were so, then that part was getting smaller and smaller by the day.

Popping up in the bottom right corner of the screen was an e-mail alert, Rocky stretching her arms above her head and cracking her spine on the back of the chair. There was a loud **pop!**, the girl both flinching and letting out a small moan of relief.

_God, that felt good_. She then went to read the e-mail, thinking that maybe sitting at the computer for long periods of times really could cause back problems. She cast the thought away, however, seeing that Collins had responded.

At the church party this past Saturday, Len had agreed to give Rocky his sister's e-mail address to ask questions and talk about what both had been spending much—maybe too much, sometimes—of their time researching. The only difference, however, was that Rocky had decided to classify herself as a skeptic (as much as she felt labels were confining, she also had learned they could offer comfort as well as long as they were not allowed to confine anyone), while Collins called herself a Spiritual Seeker (she always used capitals).

Double-clicking on the tiny image of an envelope, Rocky opened the message:

_I definitely agree. I used to think Buddhism was more of a "way of life" or "philosophy" as well, but you're right that it's mostly just Western Buddhism is that way. I was actually pretty shocked at some of what I read when digging deeper into it. I don't think the religion itself if misogynistic, however. We can't look at one passage and cry out oppression. Yes, there is evidence that shows the Buddha held misogynist views, but the religion itself has always seemed to be one of the most equal major religions in the world._

_I also disagree in that Western Buddhists "cherry pick" just like Christians do when interpreting the bible. Religion evolves and changes depending on time, culture, and/or region. It has to, or, in many cases, it dies. Just like with the Sky God of old African lore. He was so high and above, unable to be reached or approached by us mere mortals, he just sorta faded away. I think I found that Brahman almost had the same fate…_

Rocky read the e-mail, smiling and nodding at some places and rolling her lips inward at other places, thinking about what Collins was thinking. The twenty-year-old tended to be more timid than Rocky, not liking to offend anybody. It could be hard to get a straight answer out of her, because she did not like the thought of hurting anyone's feelings or putting down anyone's beliefs, even if she were speaking with someone who did not hold any of the beliefs she was trying to be considerate towards. She was coming out of her shell more, though, starting to get more to the point of just what she thought and believed, and it was nice having someone to have these kinds of conversations with.

There was only a few months left of school, and Rocky had already gotten two acceptance letters. Her dad had pushed towards his alma matter, so Rocky had applied, but she really did not want to go. It was in Chicago, so she would likely still be living at home. She wanted to leave. She didn't want to have to hide everything anymore. The only reason she still hid was because she knew she would be kicked out. The oh-so kind and generous Jesus had said anyone that was not with him was against him, and her parents were people who took that to heart.

Aunt Tanya had been cut off from the family when she married a Muslim. Uncle Noah was still not spoken of for marrying the man of his dreams.

Rocky would not be able to handle getting thrown out. Ty had tried saying their parents wouldn't do that, but he had seemed unsure if he could make such an assurance. Truth was, either Curtis and Marcie would toss her onto the streets, or they would do something worse—force her to see that "psychologist" at the church office. Man didn't even have a degree, and Rocky could not stand the prospect of their attempt at brain-washing her. Not after all the mental and emotional torture she had already put herself through.

There had been people at school who had found it unbelievable that while Rocky's dad was a doctor, he was also a creationist—albeit an old world creationist (meaning he believed the universe was older than 6000 years old), which sometimes got him some grief or the occasional teasing at church. Rocky, until just a few years ago, had never seen the conflict. She'd had a biology teacher who was a creationist. Creationism was true. Of course there'd be scientists that would accept that fact!

Rocky wasn't sure how she had blinded herself so much over the years. She had always been in love with science, also often having an affair with mathematics. She'd seen the diagrams of how the Earth had formed, how it had once been an orb of molten rock billions of years ago. Still, she'd been adamant about Adam and Eve being literal characters, the Garden of Eden a very real place. It wasn't metaphor to her, and those who thought it so were condemned as being "lukewarm" by her church.

Those who were lukewarm were disgusting by God, spat out and making him want to vomit. That was what Rocky and Ty had been told in Sunday school many times.

Later on in school, Rocky had learned bits and pieces of evolution. She had accepted the mutation of cells and bacteria (why would they need oncologists if cells couldn't mutate?), and she had accepted that some species adapted over the generations as aspects of her habitat changed, needing the species to change as well so as to survive.

However, Rocky had seen this as more proof of a Divine Creator, an Unmoved Mover. As much as she would give into saying "Yes, adaptation is real, even when concerning humans as they spread across the globe over so many years," Rocky had still stayed very clear away from that one, damning word: Evolution.

Until stealing the book Ty needed to read for his psychology class as reading it before having to go to bed, Rocky had managed to stay away from the thought of evolution being a valid theory.

"It's only a _theory_, after all."

"If we came from apes, why do they still exist?"

"If it's true, then everything's just random chance! How on earth does _that_ make sense?"

To this day, Rocky groaned and shook her head at the memory of nodding along to and even repeating these arguments. In that psychology book, she had read about the evolution of the mind and how it affected different modern thought-processes (she was still sketchy on the subject, though Ty seemed to be excelling in it).

Rocky had found herself nodding along, saying, "That makes sense…," and then realizing she'd just admitted _evolution made sense_.

It had seemed so small, and Rocky had gone to her laptop to prove herself right, looking at articles on creationism and intelligent design. However, she'd seen some holes in most of the arguments and had finally allowed herself to look at articles about evolution, debunking many of the things she had thought of it before.

Okay, she thought evolution made sense. There were liberal Christians who saw many stories of the bible as simple fables, right? So it wasn't a big deal. It didn't necessarily mean she was "lukewarm", right?

However, it had been a big deal. Doing more research, Rocky had found more and more evidence that pointed her away from the religion she had been a part of for as long as she could remember—a religion so intertwined with her very identity, she was sent into a panic attack at the very thought of the possibility of her no longer being a believer.

She had stopped researching, not even wanting to do her science homework past the bare minimum. She had tried _so hard_ to cling to her faith, but it had been slipping away for too long, too fast. It had been getting replaced by knowledge of the contrary, but it was knowledge Rocky had wanted to dash across the rocks.

Trying to force herself to believe what she no longer could, Rocky had spiraled downward, feeling guilty all the time. She had absolutely hated herself, and she had constantly wondered how God could possibly set things up to where evidence told his children that he did not exist. That the Jesus of the New Testament had never walked the Earth.

In a frenzy with her eyes rarely dry, Rocky poured over the bible, but… She had realized why she had sometimes heard kids at school joke about how reading the bible made people atheists.

The god of the Old Testament… ordering raped women to marry their rapists, ordering his chosen people to kill whole nations and take the virgins for themselves…

That was _not_ the god she had promised herself to as a child. That was _not_ the god she had loved with all her mind, all her heart, and all her soul. That was _not_ the god she claimed time and time again would someday have every knee bow down and every mouth sing praise.

Not only the horrid war-god of the Old Testament made Rocky shake and beg the Father for answers. She had found so many inconsistencies and contradictions; many of those she'd found were written, kept in a large binder at the bottom of her desk drawer. She wanted answers, but every Sunday, when she listened to her pastor and youth leader, she knew they would have none she had not already read on an apologist website or in a book.

She had refused to admit she didn't believe, though. She had refused to admit to herself where the evidence was leading her. She had pushed those thoughts away time and time again, dropping down to her knees as tears streamed down her face, begging God to take her back, to deliver her soul from the devil, who she was having so much trouble fighting against.

Finally, there had been the suicide attempt, and Rocky pulled up the sleeve on her right arm tracing the thin, almost invisible scar with her left thumb. It wasn't very long, but there had been so much blood, Rocky freaking out as soon as it began to flow over her arm, onto the floor. It had been then she had changed her mind, taking her cellphone from her back pocket and dropping it twice into the tub before finally getting ahold of CeCe.

She didn't like thinking of how low trying to hang onto religion had put her.

Belief was not conscious. She finally understood that, but sometimes she wondered (and Ty asked her this from time to time), if she was done with trying to make herself believe in something, then why did she keep doing all of this research?

Maybe she was just a theology nerd. She didn't know. All she knew was that she didn't want to stop questioning anymore. She didn't want to stop wondering, asking questions, and, every so often, getting answers.

**_As you can tell, Rocky's journey is much different from either CeCe's or Gunther's. She will be showing up more later, and while those still reading (... people are still reading... right?) probably want to see more of what happened between Rocky and CeCe at the party, she tries to stay occupied with other subjects. She still thinks about it, and while I will go more into what happened her sexuality as the story moves on, she's been focusing more on religion and philosophy (even if she no longer calls herself Christian, she's still having trouble having lost that part of her identity). Also, starting with the next chapter, Gunther will be referred to by female pronouns, except for in chapters in Kashlack's POV, since he still perceives Gunther as male. I hope no one gets confused by the pronoun-shift, but I had planned it this way for a reason. Hope you all are enjoying the story and will continue to do so! :)_**


	20. The Party

**Chapter 20: The Party**

"_All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another. - Anatole France_

The party started at 6:30, many people already in Crusty's when Gunther arrived, walking a few feet behind Ty and Tinka. The couple had told Gunther she was free to walk _with_ them, but she hadn't wanted to feel more like a third wheel than she already did. She hadn't been completely sure about even going to the party at first, but Alexia had found her Skype name (Hessenheffer wasn't exactly a common name) and had sent her a message, saying she had told Liam about her. Liam wanted to meet her, and Gunther still wanted to meet him.

Tinka had only told Kashlack and Squitza she and Ty were going to a school-based party (even if not completely the truth, it still hadn't been a complete lie, either), and Gunther had told them that since it was a party, she couldn't get yelled at by Tinka by following her and Ty around. Kashlack had smiled proudly at that as Squitza had rolled her eyes.

Walking down the stairs, Gunther smiled at seeing her sister's gloved hand in Ty's, their fingers intertwined. The two were cute together, and Tinka's face always lit up when her eyes met her boyfriend's. The two had only shared one kiss tonight, small and barely more than a brush of the lips, Tinka saying she wasn't comfortable with much more when there were others around. Also, as Ty was her first serious boyfriend, she wanted to move slowly, which Ty was respectful of and Gunther was happy about.

In the game room were several people, chatting or playing one thing or another, as well as some racks of coats pushed over to one side. Gunther, Tinka, and Ty put theirs up, the heaters and amount of bodies making them (and even their sweaters underneath) unneeded. It left Gunther in a red-and-white long-sleeved baseball tee with jeans and Tinka in her blue dress with the subtle sparkles she had worn on her very first date with Ty—the one Gunther had paid him for. Ty wore one of his plaid shirts with a narrow tie and skinny jeans, a checker-print fedora on his head now instead of a ski cap.

As she was about to follow Tinka and Ty out of the game room, Gunther spotted a guy over in the corner playing cards with three other people: a woman that looked to be his age, dark brown hair pulled back into a French braid; a girl that looked close to sixteen with blonde ringlets and brown roots; and a guy that looked like the blonde's older brother, though his hair was black, almost meeting the base of his neck.

The guy waving at Gunther looked to be in his mid- to late twenties, short hair dark brown but looked red where the light hit it. It was spiked up in the front, and plastic-framed glasses rested on the bump of his nose's bridge, the glass making his light blue eyes look larger than they were.

"I'll be down later," said Gunther, going over to the round table, where the dark-haired girl lifted a brown purse with fringe from the seat and set it onto the floor.

She flashed her a smile, hazel-brown eyes sparkling. "Hey, I'm Bekka." She motioned to the guy that had waved at Gunther, then the black-haired boy, and then the girl that sat on Gunther's other side. "That's Liam, Ryan, and Kristi."

As Kristi flashed a smile, showing braces, Ryan pushed his hand (which looked to hold almost half the deck) into the tiny pile of cards in the center of the table.

"_Please_ tell me you're joining," he said as he looked over at Gunther, his long bangs falling over his grey-blue eyes.

"Just putting off the inevitable," laughed Liam, putting his hand into the center as the girls threw their cards in.

Ryan stuck out his tongue (which had a silver stud in it) as Gunther asked, "What are you all playing?"

"Teaching Ryan and Kristi how to play BS," answered Bekka, taking the cards and shuffling them. "Ryan's already lost War and refuses to try playing Spoons or King Mao, and we got bored with Old Maid and Go Fish."

Nodding, Gunther thought back to playing cards at the dance studio while they'd wait for Miss Nancy and later for Gary. "I tink I remember how to play dat, but we called it Bluff."

Liam gave a nod. "Bluff, Cheat, BS… It has tons of names. Anyway, Lexi told me a lot about you. Said you play chess okay, just seemed rusty." He gave a smirk at Gunther's embarrassed smile. "Not every day she's willing to talk about our family, either."

Kristi gave a laugh and put a reassuring hand on Gunther's shoulder. "Liam! You sound like you're trying to interrogate him!"

Smiling at Gunther, Ryan said, "Pretty sure he's not her type."

"She's pan, not gay," Bekka reminded him. She began to deal out the cards. On the backs were what looked like a yin-yang symbol made up of a grim reaper and an angel. "Don't mind if the pictures on the cards look a little creepy," she told Gunther. "Ryan believes in celebrating Halloween every day of the year."

"Sure, sure," yawned the black-haired man, the half-moons under his eyes showing he hadn't been getting much sleep lately. "Pick on the guy in black with piercings."

"_A_ piercing," his sister corrected him, pointing at his ear. "The hole closed up. Same as your eyebrow."

Ryan shrugged as he picked up his cards, everyone doing the same. "So you still in high school?" he asked Gunther while arranging the cards in his hands. "Or you get stuck babysitting like me?" He flinched from his sister's elbow getting him in the ribs. "Ow!"

Laughing, Liam said, "You like coming to these things, admit it."

"They give you an excuse to take time away from procrastinating," Bekka teased, laughing as she batted away the paper football Ryan flicked her way. "Two aces," she announced, placing two overturned cards at the center of the table. "We'll go clockwise."

Checking her hand and finding no aces, Gunther replied to Ryan's question: "I'm in my senior year of high school."

"Senioritis, yet?" inquired Liam after setting down what he claimed to be a two (no one argued it wasn't).

"Can't afford it," replied Gunther with a chuckle as Ryan called, "Two threes!"

Gunther informed, "I have to do extra work and take extra courses dis summer."

Kristi scrunched up her hawkish nose as she set down a couple of cards, her brother groaning as if he couldn't imagine such a thing happening to him.

Although Gunther held all four fives, she only put down two, knowing she could use one of them to lie about another card later, and also to catch someone in a lie when it came around to it.

"School screwed up my credits when I was in school," Bekka sighed after putting down a card. "I'm an army brat, moved here after Papá retired. It was halfway through high school, and I didn't exactly take it seriously anyway…" As she had spoken, her words got slowly, the twist of her full lips showing high school hadn't held the most pleasant of memories, grades-wise.

Liam guffawed, earning a glare. "I'm still curious as to how you fail the exact same class three times!"

"Shut up, boy prodigy!" It looked like Bekka wanted to be angry, but her smile betrayed her. She turned to Gunther. "I had to take correspondence courses and then go to a community college for a couple of years to raise my GPA."

"She'd be dead if not for that GI bill," laughed Ryan. "Real lucky. It's a good thing I'm going into medicine. I'm gonna need the money for my student loan bills."

"What are you studying?" asked Gunther.

Her question was partially cut off by Bekka calling at Kristi, "BS!"

"Dammit!" hissed the blonde, having to take the pile.

As Gunther set down a five and said it was a ten, Ryan answered, "Microbiology and chemistry. I'd like to go into pharmacy, mostly research. My counselor in high school had a hard time keeping from looking shocked when I told her that." He chortled and motioned to his dark, grungy attire, complete with chains decorating his dark jeans, pentacle ring, and part of a tattoo peeking out over the collar of his shirt. "Guess I can't _entirely_ blame her."

Kristi giggled as she tried to get her cards in order. "Yeah, and my teachers have a hard time believing I'm his little sister. My friends usually see us as being the two halves of the yin-yang thing." She pointed to the back of one of the cards. "I like a lot of the same stuff too, though. I just don't dress the part. Not _usually_, anyway." She giggled, motioning to her orange top with a black heart part-way filled by a spider web. It was short-sleeved, a long-sleeved onyx top underneath, and resting over her large bust was a silver circle with a crescent moon on either side of it.

After getting called out by Gunther for lying about his two queens, Liam commented, "Humanist, Unitarian Universalist, Strega, Wiccan, and Alexis said you're Eastern Orthodox?"

"That's right," Gunther replied.

Ryan commented, "One of the things I like most about these things is you meet all the different people. Not just different orientations. There's also different nationalities—I got to practice my Italian with this guy at the last party—and religions."

The others nodded, and Bekka said, "Makes for really interesting conversations sometimes. The way Ryan and I met was I was in a discussion with a Jewish girl, a Muslim guy, and a Hindu guy. He overheard and joined in."

The conversation took various turns as the game went on, Kristi winning and Liam coming in second. Bekka then shuffled the cards as a sixth person joined, though Liam glanced at Gunther, showing he wanted to talk to her. She wanted the same, though this was a party, so getting alone would prove difficult. It was alright, though. Gunther knew that he and Liam could always contact one-another later.

**XXX**

Almost everyone here knew who CeCe was, yet the short girl sipping hot cocoa in a booth as three other girls sitting with her talked knew that she wasn't really friends with any of them. She simply played the social butterfly without ever getting close to anyone. She knew how to speak, making it seem as if she's being open while her mind was actually working hard and fast to keep everything important in.

No one ever seemed to realize, though she'd noticed Dina's, Deuce's, and Ty's eyes here and there, showing _they_ knew. _They_ knew she was hiding behind this social butterfly façade, even if none of them knew specifically _what_ she was hiding.

Demitria and Joslyn excused themselves from the group, Joslyn having just received a text from her dad.

"Is everything alright?" CeCe and Eugenie chorused, the dark-skinned girl sitting next to CeCe speaking around the bite of key lime pie she'd just taken.

"Think so," sighed Joslyn, though the tall girl looked frazzled, green-grey eyes looking tired all of a sudden. "I should just get home."

Taking her hand and offering a smile, Demitria told her girlfriend, "I'll come with you."

"Let me know if you need anything." CeCe really meant those words. She'd known Joslyn since the two took ballet at Fancy Nancy's Dance Studio. Although the two had grown apart after CeCe and Rocky became friends, she still cared about her. They'd begun getting to know each other through GSA Club, Joslyn being one of the first to come forward to help CeCe set everything up.

"Thanks." Joslyn's oval-shaped, copper-toned face lit up at that as she and Demitria left Crusty's.

"I hope everything's alright," murmured Eugenie. She went to another school, and while she had been unable to start a GSA or LGBTQ club at her school, she attended events, inviting school mates and friends.

CeCe nodded. Joslyn had been having some trouble at home ever since coming out, but her dad had become very accepting and sometimes helped out with events. Her stepmom had then begun to come around, but Joslyn's birth mother was still very against it and was even trying to get custody and have Joslyn sent to a therapist. Unfortunately, it wasn't an uncommon story. CeCe hated having to hear stories like that, and stories such as that always made her think back to Rocky.

_Dammit,_ she thought. _Stop it. Not now._

After a while, Eugenie excused herself, noticing that her boyfriend had finally arrived, so she went to hang out with him and his friends.

Not long after Eugenie left, Tinka slid into the seat across from her, holding a white-and-red mug. CeCe looked up at her for a second and then over to the left, where she saw Dina rolling her eyes as Deuce and Ty had an arm-wrestling match. There was a small crowd around them watching and cheering.

"Hey, Tinka." CeCe tried to sound upbeat, but she and Tinka had never been close. She had never understood why Tinka had always seemed to hate her, even as little kids. It wasn't until almost middle school she or Gunther could speak English fluently, but it hadn't taken long for CeCe to figure out the basic insults, even if she didn't know the literal translations.

"Do not get used to it," the girl with her blonde hair pinned up halfway so it only tumbled down in tight ringlets around her right shoulder, "but I wish to tank you. Gunther is happier. She does not say so, but she is."

Tinka never gagged like she used to when saying nice things to either CeCe or Rocky, making the redhead smile. There had been times when she'd thought they could be friends if Tinka wasn't so mean, but they were being civil now. She might as well return the favor instead of being snarky like she normally would.

Toying with the gold-streaked tips at the end of her fishtail braid, CeCe smiled and responded, "Thanks. She's cooler to hang out with now that she's being honest with herself."

At first, CeCe had thought switching the pronouns would be difficult, but she had only slipped up once since Tuesday evening, when Gunther had first suggested they start using the female pronouns for her. CeCe thought it was a good idea, and it looked like Tinka thought so as well.

"Tell Ty yet?" asked CeCe.

Tinka gave a small sigh before taking a sip of her drink. "No. I tink Gunther should be the one to tell him and Deuce, but she is not yet ready. I am always tempted to correct Ty, though, when he says 'he' instead of 'she' when we talk about Gunther."

Her eyes stayed on the table, and CeCe nodded. One of the things talked about at the club meetings was that there was no one big coming out. It was something that was continuous, something that had to be done every day.

"How about a new name?" CeCe inquired, changing the subject. "She think of one yet?"

She remembered talking to Gunther once about names, whether she wanted to change her last name or not. There were various reasons behind either choice, and Gunther had admitted she had been putting more thought into a first name right now.

"She is deciding between Sofie, Sabine, and Rosalie," said Tinka. "She says Cara or Carina are also nice, but dey sound better as middle names in her opinion."

"I like Sofie," said CeCe slowly, thinking, "but she doesn't really strike me as a Sofie, really."

Cheeks dusting with red, Tinka giggled.

"What?"

"I said same ting," Tinka replied, still giggling some. "I like Sabine and Rosalie, though."

"Same." CeCe nodded. "Rosalie's my favorite, but it makes me think of that bitchy vampire from _Twilight_."

Tinka laughed more. "Oh my gosh, I didn't even tink of dat."

The conversation continued, and CeCe actually began to feel her walls lower little by little. It was weird bonding with Tinka, and over _names_ of all things. It was nice, though, and CeCe thought it was nice feeling like she didn't have to think through everything before it came out of her mouth. It seemed like Tinka was staying away from any topic about Rocky or why CeCe had been distancing herself from the others, but whether the blonde did it on purpose or not couldn't be seen.

It didn't even matter. Having this conversation just showed that Tinka was a good sister, and she could be a good friend.


	21. Analyzing Emotions

**Chapter 21: Analyzing Emotions**

"_I prayed for twenty years but received no answer until I prayed with my legs." - Frederick Douglass_

The pew hurt Rocky's butt. Ever since she was little, as much as she had used to actually like coming here every Sunday, the girl had never been fond of having to sit in the sanctuary for almost two hours, occasionally standing to clap and sway as they all sang praise. It was a nice church, and the singing part had always been Rocky's favorite as a child. Along with the traditional hymns, there had been times when the choir had tried introducing contemporary music as well. Unfortunately, that type of music had never been popular.

Not everyone was so strict as to say any song not a traditional hymn was of the devil, but there were those that were very traditional, thinking it disrespectful to play/sing rock (even Christian rock) in church, some saying much of it doesn't even sound like it praised the Lord.

Today, the younger kids were already in Sunday school, the pastor speaking of sex as stated in the bible.

This was a topic that seemed to have been beaten to death, but with same-sex marriage having become legalized in Illinois 2013 and the major "scandal" of a church refusing to allow a same-sex couple get married in its sanctuary in the past year, she should have known such a topic would be brought up again. However, one could not let adultery (and in this church, marrying a man or woman that was divorced was considered adultery, as God did not sanction divorce), premarital sex, or even lustful thoughts get left out of the sermon.

Her mind wandering from time to time, Rocky thought about how in Sunday school in sixth grade, the teacher spoke of puberty, hormones, and "new feelings" that would arise from the body and mind growing up. It had been awkward for nearly everyone in the room, but Rocky had never really understood how one person could look at another and instantly begin thinking of anything sexual. Of course there had been times Rocky thought a guy (_Or girl_, she made herself add, as she could not deny it any longer) looked attractive, but her thoughts had never gone beyond cuddling or kissing.

She remembered Jada once confiding in her that she was guilty of having lewd thoughts of a guy she really liked, but Rocky hadn't known how to respond. Having grown up in the environment she had, sex had only sounded like an obstacle—something a man and woman put themselves through for the sake of having children. She had never understood how anyone could see _anything_ pleasurable in such an act.

At first, Rocky had just figured it was a temptation more people went through than others, and she was one of the lucky people that didn't have to deal with such temptations, like how some people weren't as tempted by alcohol or drugs as much as other people.

Now, she had no idea. Looking into her sexual orientation had never seemed as important, first, as trying to keep a firm hold of her Christian beliefs, and then second as trying to claw her way out of the hole her self-abuse had shoved her down.

"Amen!" echoed the sanctuary, but Rocky had no idea what they were all Amen-ing about.

Looking over at Ty, Rocky noticed his foot tapping slightly and his eyes ahead as he tried to listen. With everything going on in her life, she'd forgotten about her brother's. He seemed to be doing much better, much happier. Tinka was a definite cause for that, which made Rocky smile despite the slight ache in her butt as well as in her head. Her hair had been left down today, curled for the first time in months, but she still hadn't been wearing much make-up, though that was something her parents didn't worry much about, both always saying how much better she looked without it.

Several months before dating Tinka, Ty had been with a girl at his college. Rocky still remembered her, and she had seemed nice enough, though there had been times she had seemed a little bossy. From what Rocky knew, the girl had pressured Ty into sex even though he'd been pretty adamant on waiting until marriage. He had thought he was in love, though, which he had told her that night. The relationship had dissolved barely twenty-four hours after that, which probably explained why he wanted to take things so slowly with Tinka.

Rocky thought it was a good decision, but she wished Ty didn't have to feel guilt over what had happened with that girl. He had been pressured and had given in against his own desires. Rocky could not see how anyone could see it as anything more than that (well, not anymore), but she knew Ty still believed in God. The two have never really gone into a deep discussion on various beliefs, but the look on Ty's face showed he still held some guilt for that slip.

What was with God and sex, anyway? Rocky had never thought to ask such a question before, but she found herself flooded with questions every time she came to church and whenever she was reading through an apologetics book. Some of the questions she thought could be considered blasphemous, and she tried to keep herself from thinking anything too rude.

She may no longer find peace in religion; she may no longer find any of Christianity's tenets applicable or believable. Still, she did not want to be disrespectful of anyone's beliefs. Maybe that was Collins rubbing off on her. She'd seen rants from both Christians and atheists, insults flying in ways that seemed to only happen on the internet, and Rocky didn't see any point in holding any anger over what had happened.

Once in a while, anger popped up, but Rocky was learning how to deal. She was learning how to keep moving forward. She couldn't try forcing herself to stay stagnant anymore. Such an action would only hurt her even more in the long run. She could try hanging onto that slippery stone in the center of the rushing river all she wanted. She may not know if it led to calmer waters or a waterfall, but if she wasted all her strength trying to stay in the exact same place with no chance of anyone coming her way, then all she was going to do was lose strength and drown. Then, she would never find out anyway. Or even be able to safely make it to the bank. Fear had horrible side-effects, none of which Rocky wanted to experience anymore.

"… Sodom and Gomorrah…"

Those were the only two words that stood out to Rocky in the declaration. To think she had never given a second thought to Lot's wife turning into a pillar of salt in the past. Then again, she had never questioned a talking snake, talking donkey, or people rising from the dead, either.

Homosexuality…

Rocky knew she wasn't gay. There had been times she found a girl attractive, but she'd had the same types of thoughts about boys. Bi, then? She'd never had what she'd call lustful thoughts about either, though; she wasn't _sexually_ attracted to them, just aesthetically.

She had once thought about this girl at _Shake It Up, Chicago!_ She'd had awesome moves, was intelligent, well-read, and beautiful. Rocky hadn't even realized what she was thinking of her until a dream one night. In the dream, they had kissed, Rocky immediately rocketing out of bed and sending a prayer to God about what it meant.

At the time, she hadn't necessarily thought of homosexuality as a sin, or so she'd thought. Really, she had never given it much thought, period, until that dream. In it, she and Laila had been in a deep discussion—what, Rocky couldn't remember after awaking—while out in a park, beneath the stars with Rocky's head in her lap, Laila gently petting her head, thumb caressing her cheek. There had been a shooting star, Laila choosing that moment to lean down as Rocky moved up to meet her soft, red-painted lips.

Rocky still sometimes felt heat rise to her cheeks at the thought, though she hadn't seen Laila since before the Japan trip. She was just glad she couldn't blush thanks to her skin tone (although, her cousin Augustina, dark as she was, could turn red as a cherry during really embarrassing moments, so Rocky guessed she just lucked out in that respect).

Rocky felt the heat in her face rise as her mind wandered even further into her fantasies—CeCe Jones.

_I can't think about that here,_ the girl told herself. _Not here_.

Her mind would not listen.

After that game at the party—Fubar, Rocky remembered it was called—CeCe had decided they should join the group that was gathered at a couple of couches and chairs (some also sat on the floor) around a coffee table with what looked like the spinner from Twister. Someone would spin it, and whoever the arrow pointed to had to choose Truth or Dare. Even drunk, Rocky had still had enough of a working brain to remind her to just choose Truth the one time the arrow pointed to her. It had been made clear that anything said or done in the apartment was not allowed to leave (cell phones and cameras had been left at the front).

As always, CeCe had chosen dare, first having to play some stripping game Rocky didn't even remember the rules of with this guy in the circle. He'd lost, though everyone had roared in laughter as they ordered him to keep his boxers on (though there had also been a few cat-call whistles with a few people chanting, "Take it off! Take it off!"). CeCe, though, had only had to take her vest and top off. Almost an hour (was that right? An hour?) after that, CeCe had gotten the dare to kiss the hottest person in the room.

Before Rocky had registered anything, her empty cup had fallen from her hand, her arms wrapped around CeCe's tiny waist and hands against that pale, warm skin as their lips pressed together, Rocky finally breaking away when she found her own mouth opening, tongue beginning to move forward.

That kiss had nearly sobered her completely, and it had seemed to have done the same to CeCe, the two leaving the party not long afterwards. They'd gone to CeCe's apartment, but instead of sharing the redhead's bed as per usual, Rocky had opted to take the couch in the living room. She hadn't slept even one minute that night, her mind replaying that kiss over and over as tears threatened.

Even now, Rocky didn't really know just what her feelings towards CeCe were. The only thing she was really sure of was that it would be nearly impossible for their relationship to be as it had been before that kiss.

Hell, who was the kidding?

Their relationship hadn't been the same since CeCe found her in the bathroom with blood flowing from her arm like some sort of satanic river. It hadn't taken a genius to see CeCe had been continually walking on eggshells. That party had been the first time CeCe had let her guard down around Rocky ever since the attempt.

And look where that had gotten them.

The pastor's passionate voice echoed through the sanctuary, followed by another round of "Amen!" and "Hallelujah!" It had been something about letting their faith be a lamp in the darkness and change the world. Rocky vaguely remembered hearing something along the lines of those major divorce firms and X-rated stores going out of business just as Paul had won many converts in Ephesus and the Asia province, putting Demitrius and his artisans, who made shrines to Artemis, out of business. She remembered the verses well enough.

All Rocky could think of right now was CeCe. When together, they had hugged, held hands, cuddled, shared a bed during sleepovers…

Rocky had never thought much of it. She knew other girls who did the same think with their close friends. Then there was that kiss. So had that kiss twisted her thoughts, or had it made her see those actions more clearly for what they were?

Sure, there had been a comment here and there as the two walked down the sidewalk hand-in-hand, whether it was someone coughing "Lezzo!" or someone else saying, "You two look cute together!"

Comments like that had usually just made the girls laugh.

Now?

Had Rocky _ever_ felt anything more for CeCe? She honestly could not tell.

Maybe…?

Perhaps CeCe was right, and she was just overthinking. She was scared to talk about it, though. She barely knew how to explain any of it to herself. How was she supposed to speak about it to someone else?


	22. The Key

**Chapter 22: The Key**

"_To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting." - e.e. cummings_

It looked like Liam and Bekka were already eating when Gunther arrived with CeCe by her side. It was just past one o'clock, Gunther having momentarily chatted with Liam over Skype this morning before leaving for church. They had agreed to meet up for a late lunch at Crusty's today after services (Liam usually went to Unitarian Universalist services with his fiancé), and there were two plates across from the two in the back booth—Gunther had told Liam what to order for her and CeCe.

Catching the two, Bekka looked up from her slice of deep-dish pizza and gave a wave, which Gunther and CeCe both returned as they took their seats, Gunther by the wall with a panini in front of her along with a large glass of Coke. CeCe didn't have a drink in front of her, instead pulling out a bottle of White Out Mountain Dew from her coat pocket.

"Hey," Liam greeted after swallowing a bite of thin-crust pizza covered in onions, bell pepper, olives, and sausage. "Hope you were able to get some sleep after such a crazy night."

Gunther gave a laugh at the joke as he bit into his panini.

The party had ended by 9:00, only a handful of people (Gunther included) staying behind to help clean everything up. That had lasted until about 10:00, according to CeCe, but Ty, Tinka, and Gunther had left by 9:30 so they could get enough rest so as to get up early for church the next morning—and not fall asleep during service, as Ty reported to have done once but never again.

"Joslyn doing alright?" Bekka asked CeCe, hazel-brown eyes shimmering in concern. "She said something about a narrow-minded bigot trying to ruin her life. I'm guessing her mother again."

Heaving a sigh before taking a large bite of the pepperoncini on her taco pizza salad, CeCe nodded. "Her mom's fighting a losing battle, but that doesn't mean it doesn't cause any damage." She popped a piece of sliced pepperoni into her mouth.

Bekka nodded sadly as she sprinkled some parmesan cheese onto her garden pizza. "At least her dad and Ellen are standing by her. She needs the support."

Everyone nodded, Liam adding, "Sometimes that's all you can do: support them." He turned to Bekka. "Rev Anne talked about this today. Well, about not just tolerating differences or simply accepting they're there."

Bekka gave a nod as she swallowed her food. "Yeah, she said differences need to be celebrated. When we keep trying to focus on saying 'We're all the same' but then facts pop up about our differences, they make them all the harder to ignore, and they shouldn't be ignored. That'll just cause more conflict in the end."

Gunther liked that. While it was true they were all human, there were some fundamental differences when it came to belief, race, orientation, or gender. However, each of those things could be tied so deeply into a person's identity, when those fundamental differences came up in conversation, suddenly everyone would turn defensive.

Did it really have to be so impossible to have meaningful conversations on religion, different cultures, or politics without people suddenly shouting about being persecuted while, at the very same time, shouting obscenities at the other sides?

"Exactly what kind of church do you go to?" asked CeCe. "I've heard you talk about the classes and services sometimes, but they sound a _lot_ different from what I went to as a kid."

"Because it _is_ a lot different," replied Liam with a slight laugh. "Some argue it's not even a real church."

He took a bite of his pizza as Bekka clarified: "A basic tenet of the Unitarian Universalist church is that all paths lead to the same god, whether you call it God, Source, All, the Great Spirit, Divinity, which ever. It teaches about all the different paths as well, with some people following various religious paths teach the classes. In a little over a week, Kristi's mom is actually coming to lead us in a circle for Candlemas, or Imbolc." She stumbled over the word slightly, pronouncing it im-olk with the slightest articulating of a _b_ in the middle. "Sometimes Liam will talk about humanism, we've talked about Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, and last week, the person leading the class was one of my friends, who's Hindu."

Nodding, Gunther thought it sounded interesting. She'd heard some people say how they believed all religious paths lead to the same basic place in the end, claiming it made the most sense with there having been so many different religions ever since man first began to ponder such things.

"That sounds pretty cool," said CeCe around a mouthful of salad. She then swallowed, also taking a sip of her soda before inquiring, "So when you two planning on the wedding again?"

"When it's warm," answered Bekka quickly before Liam could open his mouth.

He then laughed and said, "We _were_ thinking this summer, probably late, close to fall."

"'Were'?" Gunther questioned, taking off his trench coat. It was getting very warm, though Bekka was still wearing a dark grey overcoat, periwinkle scarf, and light blue beret. In contrast, Liam was only wearing a dark green pullover, tan sleeves sticking out from underneath and partway covering his hands.

Both Bekka and Liam nodded, the woman tying her long, wavy hair back with a band kept around her left wrist. The tips looked like they almost brushed over the red vinyl seat.

"We decided to move in together for about a year," Bekka explained, popping one of the tomato slices from her pizza into her mouth. "We know we love each other, but sometimes there's a difference between loving someone and being able to live with him for the rest of your life."

Liam nodded in agreement. "We decided it'd be better to find and settle any disputes now before we're legally bound. There will always be disagreements, sure, but we can find out better this way how to settle them before anything gets out of hand or anyone's sleeping on the couch."

Bekka giggled. "I don't know about anyone else, but I _like_ the couch. If I wanted to punish you, I'd think of something else."

"Floor?" suggested CeCe with a smirk, Liam shaking his head as Bekka laughed.

"_She_ sleeps on the floor _now_," he said. "_Willingly_. So that's one thing we can talk about. She likes futons like you see in some of the Japanese anime. Says you can always put it up in the morning, leaving more space in the room to do whatever."

Smiling, Bekka shrugged. "It does. It's comfy _and_ practical. Also makes cleaning the room easier."

"But _I_ like beds. Even a couch would be preferable. I don't mind the space being taken up or the extra cleaning challenge. To me, it's a good trade-off."

"So that's something to discuss along with the usual topics like finance, children, _et cetera_."

"Sounds like a good idea," said Gunther.

She had always seen her parents shake their heads at the advertisements for divorce lawyers, the two telling Tinka and Gunther that they needed to be serious about marriage. It wasn't just a legal contract. It was binding under the eyes of God, and the would-be wife and groom should know with utmost certainty that their love was strong and pure. Gunther and Tinka had always agreed.

Liam gave another nod. "Yeah, our relationship had a bit of a bumpy start, so it seems best."

"What happened?" CeCe and Gunther asked at about the same time.

After taking a sip of lemon water, Bekka replied, "We weren't exactly _fighting_, but sometimes it seemed like we were meeting up to have debates rather than actually date. It started when we first set up to meet—"

"We met on a dating site," Liam explained.

"Yeah, and after I parked, I spotted a car with a bumper sticker that said 'Stop praying in my school and I'll stop thinking in your church'." She cast a glare at Liam when he laughed. "And after I spotted Liam and sat down, what's the first thing I do? I complain about how arrogant that bumper sticker makes the driver sound."

"And it was my car," Liam said, though Gunther had already figured that. "I waited until she stopped her little tirade until I told her that."

"And if I could blush, my face would have looked like a tomato," murmured Bekka, pointing at her olive-toned, oval-shaped face.

"So a good portion of our relationship started with philosophy and religious debates." Liam fixed the grey newsboy cap sitting atop his head. "It wasn't until the third date I finally told her what I _usually_ tell potential girlfriends right off."

"Which is that he's trans, and it led to a whole other discussion, which is another reason we're doing the… okay, it sounds nowhere close to being romantic, but the only word I can think of to describe it is a probationary period."

She looked over at Liam as if requesting permission, to which she received a shrug, as if Liam didn't mind one way or the other if she shared the information.

"I'm guessing sex life," said CeCe, making Gunther instantly uncomfortable, though she still wanted to listen.

"Yep," replied Bekka. "I'm a panromantic asexual, which I told him after he told me he was trans. I've never been interested in sex, and with an ex…"

Again, she looked towards her fiancé, getting another shrug as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Bekka then took a breath and continued: "When we had sex, I was bored, my mind usually going to the fact that I still have to vacuum or wash the dishes, or walk the dog, or that there's a new movie I want to see. Pretty much anything but what was going on just because it bored me so much. That was pretty much what ended the relationship, the guy claiming I must have never felt anything for him, which wasn't true. I didn't want that happening again, especially with Liam."

Gunther felt confused again as CeCe said, "Yeah, there's a guy in another school's GSA Club that's asexual. He said he'd gone through the same thing with a girlfriend once." Her tawny eyes flickered Gunther's way for a fraction of a second. "So, Liam, how's Lexi? The 'rents coming close to changing their minds?"

A mixture of anger, irritation, and sadness fell over Liam's pale, rectangular face. "No, not even close, and she's still stressing. I feel like I'm part of the reason she has to go through this, even though logic says it's our parents refusing to acknowledge me as their son. If I'm _anything_ to them, I'm the bastard that killed their eldest daughter."

Hand going to Liam's, Bekka amended, "When they'd never had a daughter as the eldest child. He was always their son."

"No amount of saying that will change their minds," Liam growled, taking a long sip of his water.

Again, CeCe's eyes flickered Gunther's way, urging her to say something while at the same time reminding her it was her choice. It would always be her choice, as it should be.

As Gunther thought, CeCe stated, "Something that's always said at the club meetings is that it's better to have the people hate you for who you really are than love a lie you've created."

Exhaling sharply, Liam let himself nod, looking like he was trying to become calm. "Doesn't make the hate hurt any less, though."

"Eet's the hate I tink I'm afraid of most," Gunther admitted in a tiny voice after several moments of silence.

Out of the corner of her eye, Gunther saw CeCe's thin red lips curve into a small smile, the girl likely happy the blonde was finally beginning to talk.

Bekka assured that that was always a large fear as Liam requested clarification. It was not long before Gunther found herself speaking of her situation. Maybe not to the depth she had to CeCe that day in the café, but by the glimmer in Liam's light blue eyes, it looked like he understood the feelings well-enough.

"Some kids at school called me 'It'," he told Gunther after the tale was done. "Others went with 'he-she' or simply referred to me as 'she' or 'her' with a lot of emphasis, always making sure to look straight at me even if they were talking to someone else. At least most of the teachers were supportive, and the principal had a very strict no bullying policy and made sure to have the people causing me trouble handled with. It really wasn't very many people who were bothering me about my transition, but it seemed like it at first."

CeCe nodded at that, probably remembering the bullying she and Dina had received at school.

Liam then gave a small chuckle that didn't quite hold as much humor as he'd probably intended. "Yet, I think the hardest part was the bathroom issue. To everyone else, it's not even a thought. But to me…?" He paused, watching as this sunk into Gunther's mind.

"You have to decide whether you go with as you identify or the sex biology assigned you," she finished, thinking about the few times in early elementary school she'd been stopped by a teacher and told to go into the boys' room as she had gotten laughed at by some other students. There had been times Gunther had simply refused to go, trying to hold it until getting home and sometimes refusing to drink any liquids to make sure she made that goal.

"Yep," Liam responded with a short bob of the head. "I was already being called 'Liam' in seventh grade, and I'd made sure to e-mail every teacher, so all of them referred to me as a boy, but most of the students had known me since elementary school. So if I'd gone into the boys' room like I felt I should, I would have gotten beat up. If I'd gone into the girls'? Well, I wouldn't have been surprised if there'd been screams at seeing a boy walking in while they crowded around the mirrors, gossiping." He only smiled at the glare his fiancé cast his way. "Just because you didn't do that, doesn't mean other girls didn't."

Bekka shrugged, dipping a piece of her crust into the small bowl of garlic sauce by her plate.

"And I'm not kissing you 'till you brush your teeth," he joked, earning another glare.

He smiled as Gunther and CeCe laughed at that.

"Anyway, school was hard, but it wasn't _that_ hard until my parents got a call from the parents of one of my bullies. Luckily, I was able to stay with my friend David. His parents were very understanding and accepting and wanted to call the police on my parents, saying it's neglect. That's true, but that would only cause even more trouble for Lexi, so I convinced David's parents to not call child services or anything. They helped me with anything I needed, though, even offering to help with my college tuition."

He smiled, Gunther doing the same.

For the next couple of hours, CeCe and Bekka were silent for the most part as Liam told Gunther about a great gender psychologist. Her name was Dr. Reeves, and she was very considerate as well as objective, always going over any concerns without trying to push the patient towards any kind of decision. Liam had seen her for several months before starting Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT).

He still hadn't had top or bottom surgery, still having to save up enough money to get it since the surgery wasn't covered by the health insurance he currently had. Most insurance companies still didn't cover Sex Reassignment Surgery (SRS), as there were still debates on whether such surgery could be classified as a needed surgery or whether it was simply cosmetic and shouldn't be covered.

Saving money for SRS was tough, especially when still in college. Liam wanted to work in social care, which was not a high-paying job, and while Bekka was helping out, she was two years behind Liam in college and wasn't making all that much money either. Not to mention school teacher wasn't the job for people looking to get a large paycheck.

There was legislation in place in various states working to change that, seeing as most states were pushing for public school teachers to have masters degrees at the very least, along with all the various exams most states already require prospective teachers to pass. There had been more protests in the past year about raising teachers' wages, but Bekka joked that she wasn't holding her breath.

Much of the information about HRT and SRS Gunther had already found in the research she and Tinka had been doing, but she felt some relief in hearing the personal testimony from Liam. Gunther was nowhere near alone in her feelings and experience, and it didn't matter that she already knew that from reading all those blogs and forums. The feeling of loneliness hadn't truly begun lifting until hearing about Liam from Alexia, and now hearing his story, in his own words.

Gunther had CeCe, she had Tinka, and she had decided it was time to tell Deuce and Ty what she'd been going through.

Still, it was not until now Gunther really saw a place for her in the world.

That piece of her brain filled to the brim with fear was beginning to drain faster now. She shouldn't have to feel shame or fear anymore, even if those feelings still lingered and probably would for years.

Truth was supposed to set people free.

All these years, Gunther had thought she'd been trapped in a cage. Now, after becoming close to CeCe, researching with Tinka, and speaking with Liam and Bekka, Gunther finally realized the key to the cage had been clenched in her hand the entire time.

And it was time to let herself out. She just had to learn how to stop listening to fear.


	23. Confrontation

**Chapter 23: Confrontation**

"_The walls we build around us to keep sadness out also keeps out the joy." - Jim Rohn_

Finally, Gunther was working the café after the first two weeks filled with tutorials on how to make the drinks and work the equipment. It was a nice job, though as much as she loved coffee, being surrounded by it wasn't as great as she thought it could have been—maybe if she were able to drink it instead of being on her feet for hours at a time.

Still, the pay was good, better than what she could have gotten at the retail store or as a host at a restaurant. It also had more reasonable hours than the cinema, which both CeCe and Ty had warned her against. Apparently, both knew people who worked there and were often kept at work for as long as the cinema could legally keep them. Gunther could not afford losing any more sleep or that much time taken away from her homework and research.

It was still very cold outside, Gunther's trench coat and sweater on a rack in the supply closet along with her backpack. On the counter next to the steamer was a book to help Gunther study for her chemistry test next Friday. She'd thought memorizing all the elements and ions would be the hardest part of class.

Unfortunately, there were also compounds and equations, and the labs weren't exactly play-time either. Luckily, those were only once a week, but the lab books needed to have good detail, points having been taken off before just for sloppy handwriting. The fact that Mr. Clemmens rarely gave out homework to help out any bad grades put on more pressure on Gunther to do well.

"Breve with two extra shots of espresso and a cinnamon scone," requested a customer, who looked haggard, books slipping from under his arm as he dug for his wallet.

"Got it," replied Gunther with a smile. "Scone heated up?" He got the pastry from the top shelf in the display case, placing it onto a plate.

"Yeah, and for here. Midterms are in a couple weeks. I'm going to need all the caffeine I can get." The dark-haired man had to retrieve his text book and notebook after finally getting his wallet from his coat pocket, almost dropping a ring of keys as well.

"Ah," said Gunther, sticking the scone into the microwave as she rang up the order. "That vill be six-seventy-eight."

After making change for a twenty and offering a "Thank you" at the two dollars stuffed into the tip jar, Gunther got to work making the breve. Once it was ready, she brought it to the college student along with the scone, the guy giving thanks by offering a smile before getting back to studying.

Work picked up after ten minutes, the café mostly-filled with college students, looking just as haggard or stressed-out as Breve-and-Scone Guy. During her fifteen-minute break, Gunther made sure to send a text to Apa, telling him she'd be home by nine o'clock, 9:30 at the latest. She knew neither of her parents liked the idea of her walking around after dark, even when they lived in a very safe area, so having the cellphone really helped with Apa's and Anya's anxiety about Gunther being out later.

They'd gotten it for her after she got the job, and Apa lived up to his promise on checking the texting history, and there was an app that allowed him to listen to any conversations Gunther had. Luckily, Kashlack did not do this often and said it looked like he may no longer have to do this. He had recently given Gunther a talk on how proud he was of her and hoped she would continue to live out her life as a good, Christian "man".

It was so hard keeping all of this from her parents, but Gunther feared what kind of backlash would come about because of the truth. Even Ty and Deuce had had trouble understanding at first, but with both knowing Liam and Alexis as well as being active in the Gay-Alliance Club, they were very accepting and supportive once she began explaining, assuring Gunther that they were glad she was able to share something so close and personal. They were offering any help they could offer, Deuce saying he could offer money if needed for seeing Dr. Reeves or HRT, anything.

It made Gunther happy knowing she had such great friends, and she found herself smiling as she headed for the restaurant next door to pick up a quick dinner before getting back to work.

**XXX**

The meeting had gone on longer than usual, CeCe heaving a relieved sigh when she entered her apartment building and began to unbutton her magenta pea coat as she walked towards the staircase. The central heating system had been fixed last week, and CeCe could finally sleep without worrying about finding one of her body parts frozen the next morning.

Upon reaching the third floor, CeCe stopped in her tracks, seeing Rocky in front of her door, turning away with a sigh and then jumping in shock once her dark brown eyes found CeCe's form standing mere feet away from her.

"CeCe." The word came out of the girl's mouth as a small gasp, and her eyes immediately went to the floor, one of her gloved hands tugging at the sleeve of her navy overcoat. "Um… I was about to leave. N-no one answered, and…"

Her voice was so low, CeCe had to move closer to hear, but she stopped upon seeing that Rocky matched her steps by moving back. She looked like a cornered animal, and CeCe was slammed with the image of Rocky on that bathroom floor; blood streaming from her arm; skin almost as pale as hers; and eyes red and surrounded by darkness, as if she were already dead. She could still hear Rocky pleading in a tiny, weak voice for Ty to keep the secret from their parents.

All those emotions hit CeCe once more, even harder now if possible.

And even if it was what she didn't want to feel, the most prominent emotion was anger.

Deep, tortuous anger that burned through her veins yet somehow froze her blood at the exact same time. She didn't want to feel this anger, this fury.

For months, she had been trying to get Rocky to talk. And now, all of a sudden, she shows up?!

Logically, CeCe knew she should be ecstatic. Only last month she had tried talking to her yet again, only to leave the school courtyard in tears from, also yet again, Rocky simply brushing her off because she "needed to think".

The girl had always been left-brain dominant, whereas CeCe had taken up the slack with using the right side of the brain. However, even though CeCe knew that, even though she knew that Rocky had been through just as much as she had, just in a different area, she couldn't stop the anger. Feeling like she was just a tissue. Or maybe "toy" would be better.

A puppet tugged along by Rocky's strings whenever she so chose.

Was that how Rocky had sometimes felt with CeCe before all of this madness had happened? When CeCe would drag her around, trying to get her out of her comfort zone?

Trying to tramp down her anger, CeCe decided she needed to allow herself to be the puppet. Just this once. If it would let Rocky finally open up and maybe heal, then CeCe had to force the left side of her brain overpower the right. She needed logic this time, not emotion—just like when she took charge of the GSA Club and led that dead-in and the memorial.

While it felt as if the pause had lasted for an hour, it had actually been just under a minute, CeCe finally telling Rocky, "Mom's at work and Flynn should be at photography club."

Rocky gave a shaky nod, her veil of dark chocolate brown hair falling even more into her face. Her shoulders shook as if cold, but CeCe knew the girl had to be stifling in her coat, scarf, and gloves with the heater back on, so she walked around her once-friend to her door, getting her key out from the side pocket of her book bag.

Stepping aside, CeCe let the door swing open. "Come in?"

There was another shaky nod as Rocky shuffled into the apartment, tote bag clutched to her chest as she headed for the red couch in the den as CeCe closed the door and turned off the main light. She then took off her coat and sweater, showing her long-sleeved top, which was made to look like it'd been torn at the right shoulder and at the hem over her left hip. It had also been made to look years-old, rumpled as well as torn and various shades of brown splashes supposed to be a mixture of dirt and possibly blood making up the image of a stalking tiger on the front.

"Nice top," Rocky commented, taking off her overcoat, a pink camo hoodie underneath, unzipped to show a white top with a gold ankh over her chest. It looked like the top all the dancers were allowed to keep after the Ancient Egypt-themed dance at _Shake It Up, Chicago!_

"Thanks," said CeCe as she stuffed her faux fur-lined gloves into the pocket of her coat. "Flynn gave it to me for Christmas. Said it matched my 'badassery'." She gave a chuckle and went to sit on the end of the couch closet to the kitchen, red-painted lips tightening when Rocky scooted away from her.

Did she even know she was doing that?

By the sudden blink and slightest shake of the head that was barely more than a flinch, CeCe guessed Rocky hadn't realized what she was doing until after she'd done it.

She needed to make Rocky feel more at ease, so she got up and headed for the kitchen area. "Want some cider? Mom made some a couple nights ago. I'll just have to heat it up."

Rocky seemed to perk up at that. Everyone knew Georgia wasn't a good cook, but she could make two things very well: eggnog and mulled apple cider.

"Yes, please," Rocky requested, giving a cough. Her voice didn't sound _quite_ so small anymore.

CeCe poured the cider into a pot to heat it up. It was much better fresh, but CeCe sliced up an orange and lemon, placing two slices of orange and one of lemon into the pot along with cinnamon sticks, allspice berries, and whole cloves. It would help make it taste almost like it'd been made this afternoon rather than two days ago.

"How have you been doing?" she asked, getting two mugs, both with yellow, red, and blue vertical stripes all the way around.

"Fine," responded Rocky quickly. There was then a short pause. "I guess."

Another pause, and CeCe turned to see Rocky pull down the sleeves of her hoodie before pushing them back up to her elbows again.

"Thinking has been getting me nowhere except in circles," whispered Rocky, eyes on the floor and chapped lips parted. "So can we talk?"

As much as she knew that this was what Rocky was here for, CeCe could not help but be surprised. "Sure," she managed, the word coming out in a breath. "Of course we can."

**XXX**

Kashlack was in the chair that faced the door when Gunther entered the apartment, freezing for a moment upon seeing her father's blue eyes locking with hers. She swallowed and stepped into the apartment and closed the door, trying her best to look nonchalant about it. However, her heart thundered within her chest. By the sound of glass and porcelain clinking, Squitza and Tinka were likely putting up the dishes, and time said Katka was already asleep.

"How was work?" asked Kashlack, left ankle propped up on his right knee. He wore a simple button-up shirt today, and his long curls were pulled away from his square face.

The question might have sounded innocent enough by the words alone, but Gunther was adept at picking up on the subtle changes of her parents' tones, especially her father's. Apa was using that loaded-gun tone just like when Gunther had first gotten back to Chicago.

"Fine," answered Gunther. "How was your day?"

There were scratching sounds coming from Gunther's room. Mut and Thirteen were in there, wanting out. Gunther's heart beat even harder, but she prayed her anxiety and fear didn't show on her face.

The story of Liam getting kicked out of his home when his parents found out about his transition.

Joslyn's mom trying to get custody just to shove her into therapy to attempt to make her heterosexual.

CeCe and Dina getting bullied at school.

Rocky keeping everything a secret due to the fear of her parents' reactions.

Fear raged through Gunther's veins. It burned, telling her to run. Then it would freeze, keeping her locked in place.

Hot.

Cold.

Hot.

Cold.

Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. Hotcoldhotcoldhotcoldhotcoldhotcold.

It felt like she was about to go into a seizure. She tried her best to seem calm, but by the flash in Kashlack's eyes, she knew that it wasn't working.

"Interesting," said the man slowly, rising to his feet. "I stumbled upon something very… _interesting_ when I looked through your laptop today."

Hotcoldhotcoldhotcoldhotcoldhotcoldhotcold.

The fear pulsated, and Gunther's right pinky finally twitched as a roar filled her ears, heart in full gallop.

Every conversation on Skype and Facebook raced through her mind.

Meeting up with Ty and Deuce at Crusty's. Café with CeCe. Study sessions. Meeting Liam or Alexia.

Gunther had made sure to warn everyone that her father would check the conversations and to be careful what was said. No one had slipped up, not that Gunther could recall.

So what was Apa speaking of?

"What do you mean?" Gunther inquired, keeping a firm hold of her backpack, which was beginning to hurt her shoulder and back. Her other hand was wrapped around her new Galaxy X5 in her trench coat pocket, thumb poised over the home button.

"I am always happy for you to have friends," Kashlack began, walking around the coffee table to get closer to Gunther. "However, I have been wondering about some of them. I had been wondering why this 'CeCe Jones' sounded so familiar."

_Oh God,_ thought Gunther.

Kashlack's eyes turned hard, jaw set as his voice turned to ice. "Just _what_ is this 'Gay-Straight Alliance Club'."

"Just a club at school," Gunther answered. Was this it? Would Kashlack only not want Gunther to be around CeCe anymore? If that was it, then this could be salvaged. She could—

"Yes, I saw that much." Kashlack stood about five feet in front of Gunther. "I also saw that this CeCe girl is an officer in the club. Now, I seem to remember that you and Tinka considered CeCe and her tall friend 'enemies'." His eyes seemed to burrow into the teenager's. "Yet you seem to be awfully friendly with her now, and I have to wonder…"

It suddenly dawned on Gunther just what Kashlack was speaking of.

"Apa—"

Interrupting, Kashlack thundered, "Here I was thinking that you have become a good child of the Lord, and as it turns out, you have been turning your back on Him all this time!"

"That's not—"

"You insult me if you dare to tell me there is no connection! That you have not been looking into all of this nonsense _behind my back_!"

Tinka began to come out of the kitchen, Squitza taking her by the shoulders and whispering into her ear.

Gunther's eyes burned. "Well, you sure as hell wouldn't let me out of the apartment if you'd known anything! Actually, maybe you would! And send me right back to Batchi's farm!"

Gunther couldn't believe she'd just said that, and, with tears beginning to run down her cheeks, she left the apartment, slamming the door as Kashlack and Tinka shouted after her.


	24. Strength

**Chapter 24: Strength**

"_The worst part about being lied to is knowing you weren't worth the truth." - Unknown_

Two thin, soft hands grasped onto one of Kashlack's thick, callused one before he was able to follow his shadow-snared son out the door. The hands were warm and trembled slightly, stopping the large man in his tracks. He slowly turned to look into his wife's pastel-green eyes, which shone brightly, pleading with him. Her pink lips were thin and dipped into a frown, cheeks flushed even without help from her usual powders. Several feet behind her was Tinka, looking confused and unsure of what to do or say.

"We can always track his phone," whispered Squitza. "We can always call. Until then, both you and he need to calm down."

"How can I remain calm when my son is out there, choosing such sin?!" Kashlack bellowed.

As Squitza's eyes went to the floor, the woman searching for an answer, the girl behind her already had one, shouting it before she even realized just what was coming out of her mouth:

"The _only_ thing _she_ is choosing is to _finally_ be happy for once in her life!" Tinka's voice was pitched high, making her exclamation sound like a shriek.

Stepping towards his daughter, Kashlack shouted back, "That road will _never_ bring happiness!"

"Yes it will!" Tinka insisted, her mother looking from her to Kashlack as if wondering just who to side with. "Why should _your_ fear get in the way of _her_ peace?!"

Finger jutting out to the silver-painted door on the right, near the hallway leading to his and his wife's room, Kashlack commanded, "To your room! _Now_! I will deal with you later!"

"_Fine_!" Tinka stomped away, and it looked like she'd been about to slam her door shut before realizing Katka was asleep in her room and stopped the door at the last moment before gently pushing it shut.

Going to collapse onto the couch with Squitza next to him, Kashlack let out a long, low groan.

Just what was happening with his children? Had he not been a good father? For almost eighteen years now, he had been doing what he could to lead the twins in the right direction. They went to church weekly, even if not all of them had been very devoted (out of all of them, Squitza and Katka had always been the most spiritual) until recently—or Kashlack thought.

Sometimes he wondered if he was trying to cling to God, or if he was trying to cling to dogma.

Matka had been right that God could not possibly be known. That was a basis for their religion, unlike the Western sects that tried to rationalize what could never be rationalized.

Barely feeling one of those sweet hands gently rub against his thigh, Kashlack's mind went back to the Old Country. Upon seeing the beauty walk into his butcher shop, his heart had never truly belonged to him anymore—it had been hers. It was unfortunate that Pavol had ended up losing one of his toes that day, but the man had quickly forgiven him after seeing the love beginning to blossom between a butcher in a tiny town and their small country's princess. Pavol had even helped them conceal the relationship for the remainder of when Squitza was in Krajinazosvetlo.

Back at the palace, Squitza's two younger siblings—Anselm and Konstanze—had been happy for her and had agreed to hide it from their parents, Brustrum and Erzsi, who would have _not_ approved of the relationship, when Squitza was mere years away from having to wed so she could ascend to the throne when her time came.

It had been Konstanze's personal servant that delivered the letters between Squitza and Kashlack, though Anselm sometimes sent his own servant in her place when needed. Every letter was in the waist-high bookcase between Gunther's and Tinka's rooms, the two having found the letters in a box several years ago.

The two of them had managed to figure out the order the letters were meant to go in and made them into a scrapbook complete with some pictures they had found as well as drawings the two had made. On the page with a letter from Squitza, telling her love about how she kept trying to push away all suitors brought to her, was a piece of cloth from Squitza's wedding veil. That letter was Kashlack's favorite, as it was the one Squitza first stated that she loved him and only him.

Eyes on the spine of that scrapbook, sticking out between some thriller Kashlack had given up on reading and some romance/drama novels his wife enjoyed. The scrapbook had been given to Kashlack and Squitza by the twins for their anniversary that year. The kids had always loved hearing the story of how their parents met and married despite it being a forbidden love—"That was the most romantic part about it" was what Tinka would often say.

It had been a very hard year when one of the guards caught Konstanze's servant, however, the letter apprehended and brought to the king and queen. Of course, it had, at first, been thought the youngest of the three siblings had been having the affair, but Squitza had quickly come forward, declaring that she would gladly give up the throne and her royal name if it meant being with Kashlack. She had managed to run away back to Krajinazosvetlo, and Anselm had pleaded with Brustrum and Erzsi to let her go and be with the man she loved.

Without realizing, Kashlack had begun squeezing his wife's hand, and she lay down, head going to his shoulder. Her waterfall of pale hair, left down for tonight, cascaded down his back as she did so. Her eyes went where her husband's was, seeming to be lost in those very same memories.

The family had not been banished as they had led those two girls—that redhead that had hopefully learned some manners and the dark-skinned girl that had only worn politeness as a thin mask—to believe. They had left the Old Country willingly with Matka, Kashlack's younger brother, Edvárd, and younger sister, Alojzia. Edvárd and his wife had been blessed with a twin boy and girl just as Kashlack and Squitza, and Alojzia had recently gotten married but had been unable to get pregnant until after they'd been living in Chicago.

Part of it had been out of pride and spite, Kashlack and Squitza were both always ashamed to admit. Not long after Gunther and Tinka had been born, Queen Erzsi had died. In grief, King Brustrum had reached out to his eldest daughter, wishing her home. Squitza had refused, though spite had not been the only reason. She had known that she and especially Kashlack would have been looked down upon in the court, blessing or not. Sometimes centuries of tradition trumped the opinion of even the king.

That was when they had decided to leave, the family often getting looks and getting whispered about. They had all faced it with their chins held high, but would the children be able to do the same?

Kashlack and Squitza always told themselves that the children's futures had been the biggest reason for such a decision. Kashlack told himself that now, but looking over slightly, he could see the pain in Squitza's eyes. The longing to see her mother and father again. To speak with them. Apologize. Embrace them. She had never gotten the chance to tell them that she loved them after leaving the palace. She had refused to do such a thing, knowing that if Anselm had not stepped up, they probably would have forced her to marry someone against her will.

It couldn't be they were doing the same with Gunther, could it?

No! Why would such a thought even cross his mind?

"_In your quest to keep him close to God, you are pushing him away from both the Lord _and_ you."_

That was what Matka had said. It had been her idea to move. Apparently, Otec had wanted to escape to the States, but Matka had been too fearful to leave the place she had lived her entire life. She still blamed that fear for being the reason her husband and his brothers were taken to the labor camps. The reason he and Dávid had perished.

And while that fate was no longer a risk in the Old Country, King Anselm, who had ascended to the throne after Brustrum stepped down almost a decade after his wife's death, was trying to secularize the nation as well as implement laws many citizens were upset about. Squitza had faith her brother would be able to handle it, but Matka had urged the move, saying if something broke out, she wanted her family safely away from it.

Kashlack had agreed, but now his son faced another kind of danger. One that a simple move could not fix.

He regretted his choice to send him to work on Isidor's farm, but that could not be undone. He would not do that again, but Kashlack was at a loss.

"What do we do?" he finally asked, voice so low, he wasn't quite sure if Squitza heard.

She did, a sigh being her response. After a few moments, she whispered, "I honestly do not know, but I do not want you and Gunther to become estranged."

Her voice caught, and Kashlack leaned back, bringing his wife to him so that her head rested on his chest, his chin atop her head. He embraced her, wanting to just stay like this.

"I do not want that either," whispered Kashlack finally.

**XXX**

After being sent to her room, Tinka had stormed straight to her bed, which was pushed against the far wall, under the window, the blinds closed and sequin-lined, burgundy velvet curtains drawn. She had nearly landed on Thirteen, who had been curled into a ball in the very center of the bed. He had jumped up out of the way just in time, fur on end before seeming to sense his human was upset.

In Thirteen's usual fashion, he jumped onto the girl's back, making her let out a small "Oomph" before he began to walk in circles, making his human groan in pain and curse about how she should have gotten him declawed.

As if understanding, Thirteen hopped off of her and scampered over to one of her large, pink frilly pillows, curled up, and went back to sleep, purring loudly.

A small, hoarse chuckle came from the larger bed (Tinka's was twin-sized) coming from the wall the foot of Tinka's bed pointed at. It was pushed against the opposite corner, the foot nearly meeting one of the shallow closet's double-doors. The lamp on the small, circular stand next to the bed was turned on, the dim bulb that would need to be changed soon casting an orange glow that made shadows appear, ready to play along the magenta walls and cream-colored carpet.

Grunting as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, Baba inquired, "How is an old woman supposed to sleep with so much yelling? I am surprised the land lord did not come knocking to make sure no one was being murdered."

Allowing a huff of a laugh, Tinka sat up cross-legged and began to twist her long, thick locks over her left shoulder. "Apa found out that Gunther has been doing research about her condition behind his back."

Giving an understanding nod, Katka replied, "I usually do not condone secrets from family, especially parents. Parents are meant to be honored." She held up a hand to silence her granddaughter when she was about to object. "However, I understand. My son can be very hard-headed, and I am unsure if he really understands just what he is doing to Gunther by pushing him—"

"Her," Tinka interrupted lightly.

Tired eyes sparkling, Katka gave a small nod. "Her. Alright. By pushing her down a path she does not feel is right."

"What can we do?" Tinka cried, trying not to be loud. She heard no talking coming from the den, but it was likely her parents were discussing just what to do about Gunther.

Hopefully they would not send her away. Not again. Tinka didn't think she could take being separated from her sister another time.

"I am unsure, draha," sighed Baba. "This is Gunther's path, and only she can walk it. All any of us can do is be there to help when she needs it. I have learned that, even as a mother and grandmother, I cannot walk those paths for them. I can lead for a while, I can offer a light or words, but, in the end, it is _their_ path. And you have your own to walk, Katinka, just like everyone else. All paths overlap at some time or another, but it is impossible for you to leave yours to simply walk along your broth—" She cleared her throat to correct herself. "—sister's. She will make it. The two of you are the strongest people I have ever met."

Lips curving into a smile, Tinka's eyes shimmered. "Thank you, Baba." She took a deep breath, not wanting to cry.

Sensing this, Katka inquired, "Will Gunther be changing her name?"

Smile stretching wider, Tinka nodded. "She has limited her choice to either Rosalie or Sabine."

Thin lips in a smile of her own, Katka responded, "Rosalie is very pretty, but I like Sabine. Strong. It was the name of your ancestor on your mother's side. Fought and brought our home country to what it is now. Books say single-handedly, but your mother says Sabine would have not wanted such a stretch of the truth. She would have wanted those that helped to be named along with her, given just as much praise, even though it was her that became queen."

Tinka loved the story of Sabine of the Halmi line. Gunther did as well, which was why she had put that name on the list. As much as Tinka loved the name Rosalie, it sounded just a little _too_ girly. It sounded too much like one that would rather sit wait for destiny to take her by the hand. Sabine sounded like the name of one that would seize destiny with both hands or even charge destiny with a sword held high. As Baba said, it was a strong name. A strong name for a very strong person.

Even if she didn't quite see that strength just yet.

**_I'm sorry for taking so long. I got distracted, then sick, and then distracted again. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and to make up for the time I took, I went ahead and posted chapter 25 as well. Also, "draha" is a word of endearment, meaning something like "dear", or, at least, that was what I was able to find from a website I found. If anyone reading this happens to know Slovak and I'm wrong, please feel free to correct me. Thank you to all who are reading, reviewing, subscribing, and favorite-ing! :) Hope you enjoy what comes up next!_**


	25. Acceptance

_**Part-way through the chapter, Gunther's name is changed to Sabine.**_

**Chapter 25: Acceptance**

"_A friend is a person with whom I may be sincere. Before him I may think aloud. I am arrived at last in the presence of a man so real and equal, that I may drop even those undermost garments of dissimulation, courtesy, and second thought, which men never put off, and may deal with him with the simplicity and wholeness with which one chemical atom meets another." - Ralph Waldo Emerson_

Gunther wasn't sure if Tinka got her text, but she was sure to check her phone sooner or later.

After leaving the building, she'd sent a mass text to Ty, Deuce, and CeCe: **Big fight. My papa found out and is REALLY angry. Just left the apartment.**

All three were quick to reply, Gunther barely a block away when the third one came in.

Deuce: **U can come over 4 as long as U need. LMK if theres NEthing else I can do.**

Ty: **Real sry man. :/ Wish I could let u stay here but my rents would ask wuts up & idt u wanna tell em. But let me know if theres anything else I can do. Ill try to help in any way I can.**

CeCe: **Feel free 2 stay here. My momll understand. Shell call ur mom&dad but can convince em staying at my placell be best for 2nite atleast.  
~LoveIsLove~**

Lips curving into a small smile at CeCe's text signature, Gunther sent a quick **Thank you** to Ty. She then texted Deuce that she was glad for the offer, but CeCe's place was closer. Deuce, his mom, dad, and older sister also shared the well-sized townhouse with his aunt Josephina and cousin Cecilia. There likely wouldn't be much room left for Gunther.

**Thank you very much,** Gunther texted to CeCe. **On my way.**

Upon reaching the apartment building, Gunther had already received texts from her friends, all wishing her well and CeCe adding that the couch was already made up for her. Ms. Jones was also preparing some mulled apple cider, which made Gunther smile. She remembered CeCe remarking once that her mom's apple cider was like Mrs. Blue's pies: Very delicious and twice as addicting.

Reaching the staircase, Gunther's phone buzzed again—it was Tinka.

**Apa beginning to cool down,**she reported. **Anya calming him. Also, Baba says she likes the name Sabine.**

Despite what had happened minutes earlier, Gunther was now smiling as she headed up the stairs.

_Sabine… Sabine Carina Hessenheffer? _Gunther thought of different possibilities, still unsure about changing her last name. She might, especially if Apa stayed the way he'd been tonight.

In April, she would be turning eighteen, and neither Kashlack nor Squitza could have any say in what happened with her anymore. The thought of abandonment scared her, but peace and happiness were often said to have a price. Gunther—_No, Sabine,_ she told herself—just greatly wished the price did not have to be so high. Others did not have to pay so high a price, did they? Why had the lots been cast against _her_?

**XXX**

Rocky had only realized how much time had passed when Ms. Jones arrived back at around 7:30 with Chinese take-out in hers and Flynn's arms. She had offered a spot for Rocky, but the dark-haired girl had politely declined, saying she would be expected at home, even though that hadn't been true.

Tonight had been "Fend for Yourself Night", Marcie at her Women's Bible Study group until 8:00 and Curtis working late at the hospital, not arriving home until about five minutes ago, warning his daughter about the consumption of too many sweets—before stealing a bite of her pie and making her roll her eyes.

He would be expected to leave in about five or six months for Cambodia, even though he wanted to spend more time with his family. He always apologized for having to leave so much to do work with Doctors Without Borders, but everyone understood, not wanting to take him away from all the good he was doing.

Still at the table with the last slice of caramel and sea salt pie and a cup of hot chocolate (they had finally gotten more), Rocky was reading a book where the author tried to bring up logical points for having faith in the truth of Christianity (one of the few books she'd bought that was safe to read outside her room). The author proclaimed himself to have once been a skeptic before uncovering all the evidence for Christianity, but he did not sound like a skeptic to Rocky.

There were chapters (okay, fine, the majority of the book) where she had to fight the temptation to just throw it out the window. She kept trying to see the authors' points of view with an open mind, but it was definitely a challenge. It'd been easier to keep an open mind with apologetics that focused mainly on grabbing readers' emotions rather than this one, which attempted a rational spin on faith—honestly, that itself sounded like an oxymoron to her.

It was almost 9:30, Marcie and Curtis in their bedroom and Ty on the couch with a biology book. He had just texted Gunther, informing Rocky that she (with Gunther's permission, Ty had told Rocky that Gunther was transsexual) had run out of her apartment after a big fight with her dad.

"Interesting book?" Ty tried.

"I'd find more interest in yours," replied Rocky in a monotone after swallowing the last of her pie.

Ty gave a chuckle and then went back to studying.

Along with the nature of the book, tonight's conversation with CeCe made it hard for Rocky to concentrate.

"_What do you want to talk about?" CeCe entreated when Rocky didn't say anything._

_Swallowing some apple cider and flinching when her tongue and throat burned in protest, Rocky murmured, "Um… I-I…" She took a breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. "About the party," she finally said quickly, words running together._

"_I thought you still had to think." The words were soft, but the tone was definitely accusatory, which she seemed to catch. "I'm sorry—"_

"_Don't be," Rocky interrupted. "I know I haven't been the easiest person to talk to." Her words were just a little louder now, clearer. "I was just scared."_

_One of CeCe's hands went to Rocky's knee, and the dark-haired girl didn't move away this time. CeCe's thin fingers were decorated with rings, one of them having two; the silver swirl stopped at her index finger's second knuckle. Rocky wasn't quite sure how her gloves could have fit with all those rings on._

"_You don't have to be scared, Rocky." CeCe sounded earnest, tawny eyes shimmering. "I'm your best friend."_

Blinking hard and taking a deep breath, Rocky tried to get back to her book, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. The marshmallows had melted completely, creating a layer of ultra-sweet froth on top, which stuck to the top of her lip until she licked it away.

Rocky had never told CeCe about contemplating her feelings for her specifically, but she was sure the redhead had picked up on it. She may not be book smart, but CeCe had always had quite the instinct when it came to picking up on people's emotions, sometimes to the point of it looking like mind-reading. Or soul-reading, maybe, even if Rocky wasn't sure if she believed in souls anymore. CeCe did, though.

She'd always had views about such things Rocky used to think were unique, though after all her reading, she saw that there were many others with very similar, if not the same, ideas on Deity and the supernatural.

"_I was just scared. All that fear… Self-hate… It was still so fresh. _Is_ still fresh." Rocky's voice had gotten low again, eyes on her apple cider._

_Sitting back against the small pile of red, yellow, and blue pillows, CeCe mumbled, "I hate what religion had done to you. Even worse, I hated that I couldn't do anything about it."_

"_You shouldn't hate religion because of me."_

_Rocky took a sip of her drink. She still felt angry at Christianity, even though she kept telling herself that she'd been the one torturing herself. Still, she thought she wouldn't have hated herself if she had not been brought up being told she and everyone else were sinners and needed the love of Christ to wash those sins away._

_Without the love of Christ, there was death. Eternal death with sorrow and the gnashing of teeth. Rocky didn't feel that way anymore, but there were still times she felt lost and scared, anger churning in her gut at Christianity for injecting that fear into her in the first place—injecting that fear into people every single day._

_CeCe took a sip of her cider. "I see it all the time, though." She looked like she was about to say something but then shook her head, thinking better of it. "Never mind. I still think God or whatever is either some spirit up there or maybe just part of the universe. I don't know, and I don't think He or It cares if I know or even try to know."_

The conversation had taken many tangents such as that. In the end, they hadn't really talked as much about the party as Rocky had hoped, but they had made plans to get together again. CeCe really wanted them to be friends again, and Rocky wanted that too.

She _needed_ that.

**XXX**

There was a white sheet and multi-colored quilt folded on one end of the couch, Jake currently sitting on top of it as if it were his throne. The pug gave a bark at the sight of Sabine as she set her backpack down next to the coat rack.

"Jake!" called Flynn, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. "Come! Bed!"

The little dog jumped down and scampered over towards the boy, who waved and smiled at Sabine.

"'Night," he said.

"Good night," replied Sabine with a smile.

Jake at his heels, Flynn went into his room.

With the central heat back on, the apartment was almost stifling, and Sabine took off her coat and pullover, sticking her hat and gloves into the pockets. She made sure to grab her cellphone and bring it over to the coffee table as CeCe came over, greeting her with a hug. Ms. Jones was in the kitchen, throwing away what looked like Chinese take-out boxes, leftovers in plastic containers for the fridge.

"Nice to see you again," Georgia greeted, wiping her hands on a towel hanging over the oven's handle. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, and she wore a mauve T-shirt from Maui over snowflake-print pajama bottoms—interesting contrast, probably done on purpose as a lame joke.

"Nice to see you again as vell," replied Sabine, shaking the woman's hand.

"Tell me your number so I can call your parents. I'm sure they're worried." She headed back towards the kitchen where the landline was, Sabine reciting the number of Apa's mobile.

"You doing okay?" CeCe whispered, bringing Sabine over to the bar between the living room and kitchen. There were two cups of apple cider, and Sabine inhaled deeply as she sat on one of the stools.

"I guess," Sabine sighed, the anger and sadness rolling back in as Mrs. Jones connected to Kashlack.

The conversation lasted about five minutes, Georgia grabbing a stress ball from one of the shelves under the bar on the kitchen's side as she tried to remain calm. Sabine ran a hand through her short, blonde hair before picking the mug back up, still nervous.

After a long sigh, Georgia informed, "Your dad's fine with you staying the night, not that he's exactly happy with CeCe's 'life choices'." She gave a sharp exhale while giving the teal ball a tight squeeze. "God, I've never liked talking to people like that—" Chocolate brown eyes going wide and mouth making an _O_ shape, Georgia quickly said, "I'm really sorry, Gunther. I didn't mean anything by it."

Giving a humorless chuckle, Gunther assured, "Eet's alright, really. He is a very stubborn man."

Giving an understanding nod, Georgia put away the stress ball and then leftovers. "I get it. J.J.'s the same way. Keeps insisting CeCe's going through a phase and wants me to put an end to it." The woman took a deep breath and poured herself some mulled apple cider into a striped mug. "Anyway, do you mind telling me what's going on? CeCe said it was your story and didn't feel right telling it."

Looking over at CeCe, Sabine hesitated.

"It's alright if you don't want to," Mrs. Jones assured. "It's your business."

_It's okay_, CeCe's look seemed to say.

Taking a deep breath, Sabine told Mrs. Jones about how she was transsexual, giving a brief description of what that meant when she looked confused. Georgia listened patiently, eyes showing she was very open about this, assuring that if there was any way she could help, she would. As an officer, she had seen homeless kids kicked out of their homes for being trans, gay, atheist, pagan, having premarital sex—a _number_ of things Georgia declared was of absolutely _no_ reason for abandonment. She had always felt helpless, always wanting to help more.

It had been these stories that had prompted CeCe to have the GSA Club at school raise money for homeless kids this past year, information Georgia passed on as she smiled proudly at her blushing daughter.

Also smiling, Sabine informed of the name she had decided on, both Georgia and CeCe nodding at the choice, agreeing it sounded like a good name.

"I still liked Rosalie better," the redhead joked, making her mother shake her head.

"Well, sleep well, Sabine," said Ms. Jones, washing out her mug and placing it into the dishwasher. "Both of you get to sleep soon. There's school tomorrow."

"Yes, Mom," chimed CeCe at the same time Sabine replied, "Alright-ie, Ms. Jones."

After Georgia went into the bathroom, CeCe turned to face her friend, asking, "So, you know when you're going to see Dr. Reeves?"

"I hope to make an appointment soon. I do not know when I might be able to start any treatment, though." Sabine took a long sip of cider.

"Before then, though, do you think you might want to start living full-time?"

Sabine shook her head. "At least not now, I tink. With everything going on at home, I would not be able to start until at least April, when I turn eighteen. Even then, I'm not quite sure yet."

CeCe made a noise as she swallowed. "Oh, when's your B. Day?"

"The fourteenth."

"Cool! Mine's May nineteenth. I think you remember that surprise party."

The two made small-talk for another five minutes before CeCe retreated to her room and Sabine to the couch. She was still deeply hurt and angry about Apa's explosion, but Georgia's acceptance had been much more meaningful than she probably knew. It warmed the girl's heart, giving her hope that lifted the heaviness away.

Sitting on the couch with the dim light of the lamp on the end table allowing her to look up at Flynn's pictures around the fireplace, Sabine's thin lips were pulled into a small smile even as tears began to roll down her cheeks. She looked at the picture of CeCe speaking to the crowd gathered for the memorial. There was a picture of several students lying on concrete in various positions—a dead-in, it looked like.

There was a picture of a bunch of people having a good time partying in Crusty's, and Sabine's smile grew at a close-up picture of CeCe's profile, hair pulled back except for a lock closest to her bangs to whisper against her ear, three small clip-on hoops along the top curve. The picture was landscape and cut off at CeCe's bare shoulder, which made the viewer wonder whether or not the subject was nude. In front of her face as hand, palm up and fingers slightly curled as if having let something go.

There was a tiny fairy standing on her tip-toes on one of CeCe's fingers, staring at the human as what looked like dandelion seeds floated away from the open hand. The photo was in black-and-white except for the golden, sparkling fairy, and Sabine wondered if Flynn would be able to teach her how to use Photoshop.

After a few minutes, Sabine wiped her eyes and lay down, turning off the lamp. Exhausted, she began her descent into sleep, words coming to her mind:

"_I am always here."_

The words echoed in her mind. It was impossible to tell if the voice was male or female, but it was extremely comforting, keeping the smile on Sabine's face as sleep took her into its arms.


	26. Mirrors

**Chapter 26: Mirrors**

"_Dreams are today's answers to tomorrow's questions." - Edgar Cayce_

The shrill of a **beep** cut off in the middle roused Sabine from slumber, vaguely hearing an uttered oath as the microwave was opened.

"Sorry." Ms. Jones's voice came from the kitchen, the woman already dressed in her police uniform. In her hands was a bowl of oatmeal, and Sabine noticed the bits of apple on a cutting board on the counter. "I was doing good on being quiet up 'till now. Apparently my kids inherited the 'sleep through a hurricane' gene from their father, so sometimes I forget some people don't need to be dragged out of bed and tossed into cold water to be woken up."

Chuckling at the visual, Sabine looked at her cellphone: 5:49. She'd also received three text messages and had a missed call, which she would check later.

"Eet's alright," Sabine assured after a yawn. "I usually get up around dis time anyvay." She also still had some homework to do, so it was good to be up so early.

Georgia dumped the apple chunks into her oatmeal and mixed in some cinnamon sugar. "Do you mind passing that on to CeCe and Flynn? Jake makes a good alarm clock, but CeCe's on thin ice when it comes to tardies right now, and Flynn's still two tardies away from a write-up."

"Don't tink they'll listen to me on dat front," laughed Sabine, going to get her backpack and retrieve her literature textbook. There were papers wedged inside for studying, a vocabulary text coming up on Thursday with a test on the first half of _Wuthering Heights_ on Friday.

"Worth a shot," sighed Ms. Jones after taking a large bite of oatmeal.

It was more or less quiet as Georgia ate her breakfast and Sabine answered the short answer questions on Molière's _Tartuffe _(they'd already moved past _Othello_) due today. Once the police woman put her bowl into the dishwasher, she pointed out to Sabine which cabinets held cereal and oatmeal, which drawers in the refrigerator held fruit, and where to find the bread. She spoke quickly, also saying that the towels were under the sink in the bathroom and that she was free to stay whenever needed. Georgia also offered her services to speak with her parents if there were any problems, though that was amended with a warning that she was the one CeCe got her temper and mouth from.

As Georgia grabbed her hat and black overcoat, Sabine offered her thanks, really meaning it. The apartment felt very homey, and last night was probably the best she had slept in some time. Even her dream had not filled her with quite as much sorrow upon waking as it once had.

The dream had been yet another variation of the one where she was in her boys' tights and shirt in Fancy Nancy's Dance Studio alone, seeing the girl—_her_, as she was meant to be—in the mirror. Only, this time, the girl in the mirror smiled and gave a gorgeous twirl before leaping in a graceful _grand jéte_. Soon, the boy had found himself dancing along, the two's moves matching and becoming one to where one could not be distinguished from the other.

The shiny, wood floor had cracked and broken away along with the other walls and the ceiling, but neither boy nor girl paid any mind. The entire room had become mirror, and boy, girl, person, reflection… Neither could be told from the other. While there was no music, both danced to where they really did become one, light blonde hair long and flowing rather than pulled back into a tight bun. The leotard became white, long, translucent skirt sparkling gold, matching the sparkling shoes.

From above (or was it below? Both, maybe?), there had been a voice. Sabine could not remember any of the words, only that the voice had been very comforting, making her feel safe and loved.

She thought of the dream while in the shower, trying not to think of what she would be seeing in the mirror. She tried to keep her mind only on the dancing girl, but as her callused hands ran over her chest and worked down with the bar of white soap, it was impossible to not think.

Hairy arms. Hairy legs. Jungle pits. Flat chest. Flat ass. A penis.

This was not a girl's body. She had broad shoulders and defined muscles. She may not be buff, but she definitely classified as muscular—lean, was how most described her body.

Her hands were not huge, necessarily, but they were big, at least compared to a girl's. Same with her feet, which were also callused from years of dancing.

Rubbing the suds over her shoulders and neck, Sabine let one finger run over her Adam's apple. In the mirror, she would see it, along with her angular jawline and low brow line. Thin lips and low cheekbones.

All of this running through Sabine's mind, all that courage she had been building up the past few weeks seemed to slowly crumble. She couldn't let it, though. Fear, anxiety, and apprehension have tried to crumble her courage and self-worth before. She had to fight back.

Instead, she tried thinking back to that make-over CeCe had given her—the first time Sabine had finally begun to really see herself as a girl. Did that sound a little vain? Shallow?

She didn't care. She was female. She just knew she was. She'd known since she was a little kid. Years of trying to suppress that knowledge wasn't going to go away easily, Sabine knew. Her hardship would not cease, and she would have no chance of fighting others if she surrendered to the fight within herself.

After several moments of deep breathing, eyes closed, Sabine turned off the water and dried herself off with the fluffy, ocean blue towel she'd set onto the closed lid of the toilet for easy reach.

There was steam on the large mirror above the porcelain sink, and, gingerly, Sabine wiped that away, droplets still sticking to her hair and running down her arms. Due to the season, Sabine's skin had gone from peach-colored to barely a shade darker than ivory. This made the circles under her eyes, which seemed to always be present, more noticeable, almost dulling the color of her cobalt blue eyes.

Her hair was getting a little longer, grazing the tops of her ears and covering half of her wide forehead if she brushed her bangs down straight rather than spiked them up as she always did. She thought about styling it in the way CeCe had that afternoon, making her hair look a little like a pixie cut.

Exhaling sharply, Sabine decided against it and finished drying herself off, nearly dropping the towel and falling backward into the burgundy-painted wall at the sudden, shrill sound of high-pitched barking.

There were groans coming from the same room as the barking, Flynn probably hurrying to get Jake out before he made a mess like he'd done yesterday afternoon—apparently, CeCe had been busy with something and had locked poor Jake in Flynn's room, the pug forced to do his business next to his boy's bed.

The front door slammed just as Sabine got her jeans pulled on, light brown shirt with some kind of Chinese or Japanese (she couldn't tell) writing on the left side of the chest that could have said "soup" for all she knew coming on last.

CeCe was coming out of her bedroom as Sabine opened the bathroom door, the redhead (hair all frizzed and in disarray) pointing at a hamper in her room as she mumbled something. Her pink robe was open, showing her in a white camisole and black short shorts as she stumbled into the bathroom. Blinking, Sabine made sure to step out of the way, hoping the redhead hadn't noticed her stare or the slight blush involuntarily rising to her cheeks—luckily, she seemed to be too tired to notice anything.

_Definitely not a morning person_, thought Sabine, tossing her towel into the hamper before going into the kitchen to see what kind of cereal there was.

She chose Cheerios and also got half a banana from the fridge along with milk. She'd finished preparing her breakfast when Flynn came back into the apartment, Jake trotting in happily, panting as he went straight towards his food bowl where the kitchen area met the living room.

"'Morning," Flynn yawned, arms stretching over his head as he headed for the pantry to get his little friend's food. "Just a warning, Jake has even worse table manners than CeCe."

Laughing, Sabine tried not to spit out any of her cereal. After swallowing, she replied, "At least he probably eats all his food. I swear, my cats' food bowl gets half-empty, and dey suddenly tink they're being starved to death."

Flynn snorted a laugh at that as he dragged the bag of food to the awaiting dog, whose small, curled tail wagging fiercely as his large eyes stayed on the boy with hair falling into his face. He put two scoops into the metal bowl, Jake digging in instantly. As he ate, Sabine saw what Flynn had met, the small dog actually pushing the bowl around the kitchen as he ate, kibble scattering as Flynn put the bag back into the pantry and went to wash his hands.

"Sleep good?" he asked, grabbing the hand towel hanging from the oven. He sounded more awake than his sister, though that would have been needed, leading a dog down the flights of stairs and outside in time.

"Yes, _danke_," Sabine replied, halfway done with her cereal.

"_Bitte schön_," replied Flynn.

Nodding some, Sabine swallowed. "Ah, you know some German?"

Flynn got out a plate, a couple sheets of paper towels and a pack of bacon from the fridge. "Not much, and right now, my go-to phrase would probably be '_Sprechen Sie Englisch_?' We have four language classes to choose from at my school, and just about everyone I know signed up for Spanish—some of them even _already_ speak Spanish and just want easy _A_'s—and all the upperclassmen warned us about Dr. Martin"—he pronounced the name in the French way, though exaggerated—"for being insane, and I don't see any use for learning Latin."

Chuckling, Sabine lifted her left leg as Jake passed. "Probably only eef you wanted to major in science or go into medicine. I tink I heard dey either _have_ to take Latin, or maybe it's just suggested."

"Another reason to stay away from science!" Flynn proclaimed, lying seven strips of bacon onto one of the paper towel squares he'd set onto his plate. He placed the other square on top and then set the plate onto the microwave.

"I didn't know you could microwave bacon," Sabine commented, watching as the thirteen-year-old put the package away and washed his hands again.

"You can make microwave _cake_," Flynn responded. "Made some from my mom's birthday a few months ago."

Sabine remembered Tinka e-mailing her about baking one of her famous specialty cakes for a man Ms. Jones was dating at the time. She'd thrown away Flynn's Micro-Bake Cake, ranting in her e-mail about how just the look of the "poop-brown blob" had made her want to puke.

Once the bacon was done, Sabine finished her cereal, Flynn telling her to just rinse out the bowl and put it and the spoon in the dishwasher—it would be Flynn's turn to start the dishwasher and put everything away once it was full.

Flynn made himself some toast to go with his bacon, CeCe finally emerging from the bathroom when he was almost done eating.

"_Finally_!" exclaimed Flynn, leaving his plate on the table as he headed for the bathroom, having to walk around Jake, who was eating up the last pieces of dropped kibble on the floor. "You better have left me some hot water, sis!"

CeCe waved him off. "Yeah, yeah." She was carrying her sleeping clothes in one hand, hair pinned up and robe tied closed as she strutted into her room to get ready.

It was 7:24 when CeCe came out, hair down with several locks having been styled by a crimper iron. She made herself bacon the same way her brother had as Sabine finished the short answer questions.

"Sleep well?" inquired CeCe after a yawn, pouring herself a cup of coffee from the pot her mother had made.

Sabine shook her head at the offer of a cup of it, CeCe shrugging before taking a long sip that ended in a grateful sigh after she swallowed.

"Yes, _danke_," replied Sabine, bangs falling over her forehead. She pushed them back up, but they likely would not stay without her usual hair wax.

Popping a blueberry bagel-half into the toaster, CeCe went to grab a jar of Nutella from the pantry, saying, "Think you'll be able to talk to your dad?"

Looking up from the papers as she'd begun answering the question about the sense of absurdity created by Orgon's comments on religion, Sabine took a long, deep breath. "I don't know," she said in a low voice. "With him, eet is usually him dat talks and I just listen. Most cannot get any word in edgevise."

"Yeah…" CeCe took another long sip of her coffee, but it looked like she finally realized she'd been drinking it black and went to get some creamer from the fridge, making Sabine laugh.

Mixing in the almond toffee-flavored cream, CeCe said, "I know a little something about bulldozer dads, but at least mine's over one-thousand miles away."

"Don't get along with him?" Sabine had never really known anything about J.J. Jones other than the fact that he lived in Florida, and she knew even less about his relationship with either of his children.

"Mostly about the bi thing," sighed CeCe, the toaster giving a **ding!** as the bagel-half popped up.

She put away the cream and then went to grab the bagel gingerly with her long nails—acrylics it looked like with a French manicure—but nearly dropped it before she finally got it onto the napkin.

Smearing a thick layer of Nutella over the bagel, CeCe continued: "He doesn't think any of it is natural no matter how much evidence I give him. We used to get along well enough when we talked or when we were able to spend time together, and as long as we stay away from anything about LGBT, we're fine. But Mom always said a reason it didn't work out with them was that they're both too headstrong. They'd just end up locking horns, and sometimes that's what it feels like when we talk now."

"I wish ve would lock horns," muttered Sabine with a humorless chuckle. "Instead, I just get run over. Last night vas de _first_ time I have ever stood up to him."

Sabine made a face as CeCe retrieved her bacon and crushed the two pieces over her Nutella-covered bagel.

Looking back a moment and catching her friend's expression, CeCe pushed Jake away with her foot and guffawed. "What? It's grain, fruit, nuts, dairy, and protein all in one! It's health food!"

"I can see our doctor facepalm-ing now," Flynn remarked as he walked into the living room, dressed in khakis with a white button-up shirt tucked in, some sort of crest on the navy-colored tie. He also wore a navy blazer with a crest like the one on the tie attached to the pocket over the right breast, black buttons undone.

It reminded Sabine of when John Hughes High had attempted implementing a school uniform, except Flynn's looked much better. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, though it wasn't _quite_ long enough for one, so the locks closest to his face hung down by his hears, the right one holding a white bud, which snaked down into his pocket, which likely either held an iPod or smartphone.

CeCe pulled down her left lower eyelid and stuck out her chocolate-streaked tongue.

"Watch it," warned Flynn, snapping towards the dog bed next to the couch without having to look at it, Jake following the command. "You might scratch your cornea with those talons." His chocolate brown eyes widened as he began to speak slowly in a condescending tone: "The cornea is the clear part that covers your eye. And talons are really sharp claws."

"I know what those are," CeCe declared. "These are what usually have talons," she added, flipping up her middle finger at her brother, the three black faux gems set into the silver-colored metal glinting in the light. She took another big bite of her bagel. "Now get to school. I'll be picking up dinner tonight."

"Get extra sauce! Hot, not mild!" he called, sticking in the other ear bud.

He then waved at Sabine and gave another snap that ended in a point to the dog bed when Jake tried to follow him out. CeCe gave an exclamation of protest when her red coat fell to the floor as Flynn retrieved his dark grey one. He waved an apology and put the coat back up, then set his backpack down as he put on his coat, giving Sabine another wave as he took his backpack up again.

"See ya later! Good luck with everything!"

"See you!" replied Sabine as the door shut. The book and papers went into her backpack, she and CeCe needing to leave in five minutes maximum if they were going to make it to school on time.

It was 7:32 when CeCe put away the dishes, the last corner of Flynn's toast going out the window for the pigeons.

"Alright, I'll just get my bag, and we can go," said CeCe, checking to make sure Jake had enough water before going to her room.

Pulling the azure pullover on and pulling the zipper up until it hit her chin, Sabine got ready, CeCe shouting from her room that Rocky would be walking to school with them.

CeCe sashayed into the living room, though the knee-length, black pencil skirt she was wearing limited her movement some. Translucent black nylons with runs in them hugged her calves and tucked into leopard-print high tops that matched her messenger bag.

"Nice top," remarked Sabine just as a knock sounded at the door. She opened it at CeCe's nod, and Rocky was revealed, the tall girl holding a dark violet tote bag close to her body.

"Cashmere," boasted CeCe, running a hand over the burgundy material. The neckline was barely an inch away from the edge of either shoulder, showing off black lace-lined straps.

"How in hell did you get cashmere?" Piped up Rocky as she repositioned her purple fleece scarf. Her quilted puffer coat was unzipped, revealing a black T-shirt with a pink circle with a purple border, a pink-and-white unicorn inside with the white words above the circle reading **Invisible Pink Unicorn**.

Walking over to the coat rack to retrieve her red pea coat and black beret, CeCe pointed at the silver ring with an infinity symbol on her right ring finger. "Usual way I get expensive stuff: Dad trying to outdo Mom for Christmas. I already asked him to send me a dress a month early as my Birthday present. Sent him the design weeks ago."

Both Sabine and Rocky giggled at that, and Rocky stuck out a slightly shaking hand, still looking like she wanted to run for the nearest corner. "Hey, Gunther."

Taking the girl's dainty hand, the blonde smiled. "Sabine."

Already starting to look a little more at-ease, Rocky nodded, corners of her mouth inching upwards. "Sabine. I like it."


	27. Fights Ahead

**Chapter 27: Fights Ahead**

"_Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." - Cyril Connolly_

For some reason, the teddy bear was giving Sabine trouble, and the bow around its neck looked like it had been tied and retied over the years, limp and the knot having to be examined closely to get copied onto the thin, light grey sheet of paper. However, Sabine was sure that the heart-shaped leaves pouring out of the apple-shaped pot on the other side of the display would be more of a challenge when she got to it. She was always attentive to detail when it came to her art, but she was trying to focus even more than usual today so as to keep her brain from wandering to other thoughts.

During the walk to school, CeCe had been trying to talk Rocky and Sabine into going to Prom this April. Rocky's excuse had been cost, the price of tickets ranging from fifty to one-hundred dollars depending on when they were bought and how much money the dance committee was able to raise; the gown could be from anywhere between one-hundred and four-hundred dollars, prices getting steeper the closer to Prom season it got; and then there was hair, nails, make-up, shoes, photos….

It had made CeCe sigh, saying that that was why she'd been saving since _freshman_ year, and she'd known for a fact that Rocky had begun saving for Prom at the exact same time.

Pencil poised half-an-inch above the paper, Sabine tried to make herself stop thinking about her own issues with Prom and everything else.

The pyramid of alphabet blocks were set up in a way that was somewhat difficult to recreate on paper, but part of it was hidden by the teddy bear from where Sabine had taken the picture. She'd used her phone and now sat at her desk, having to zoom into the image in various places to determine just how the lines needed to go. She'd also used the black-and-white filter so that it'd be easier to see where the shadow and highlights needed to go when she started using the charcoal.

Once again, Sabine's mind began to slip.

Prom hadn't been a major topic since before she'd left, Tinka having been already describing the design she wanted for their clothes. Tinka had made a myriad of sketches that went with the many themes that had come to mind.

Bubble designs for the bodice with taffeta and batiste to resemble roaring waves for an Under the Sea theme.

Icicle designs along the single long sleeve and top hem that slowly melted into a vermillion puddle at the hem for Fire and Ice.

A tiered-skirt dress with a corset bodice, elbow-length gloves, embroidered cape, and an extravagant, feathered mask for Masquerade.

The binder had been filled, next to the even larger binder filled with designs Tinka had been working on since the age of eight for her wedding dress.

Those thoughts made a corner of Sabine's mouth quirk upwards, though those memories had always held mixed emotions for her. As much as she had never wanted such feelings, there had always been that ball of burning anger in Sabine's gut towards her twin sister.

While Sabine had been forced into tights, Tinka had gotten to wear the pink tutu she'd fallen in love with. While Sabine had been forced into tuxedoes she'd try what she could to make stylish, Tinka had been perfectly free to wear the gown of her dreams. While Sabine's voice had begun to grow deeper, hair popping up in places she didn't want, Tinka had slowly begun to grow a figure, awaiting the day for her menstrual cycle to begin.

Sabine still remembered that day almost four years ago when Tinka practically flew out of the bathroom, skirt and leggings only half-on, exclaiming that she'd finally gotten her period. Anya had hugged her daughter tightly, so delighted that she had hit that major step of becoming a woman—Kashlack had been on the other side of the apartment, happy for his daughter's happiness, but muttering how now Tinka needed to be talked to about dating.

That day, Sabine had been hit hard. She'd already begun the nightmare of puberty, the unending torture of seeing her body change in ways she felt deep within her soul it shouldn't have to change. She wanted a figure like her sister. The ability to wear the clothes she could really feel like herself in. A face that wouldn't make her feel crushed every time she caught sight of it in a reflective surface. A body that she wasn't supposed to have—that biology had played a cruel joke on her with.

That day when she'd seen Tinka's face light up at the thought of finally being a woman, thoughts Sabine had been trying to push back surged forward.

One day, Tinka could fall in love and have a beautiful ceremony while wearing a dress she had designed, while, if ever married, Sabine could be stuck wearing a tuxedo, staring at her approaching princess, trying to fight the longing to be wearing that very dress the bride had graced the chapel with.

One day, Tinka would be able to feel the joy of being a mother, of having a little one swimming inside her womb, growing every day for nine months. Sabine could _never_ have that feeling. Feel that joy. Even if she did transition, as she hoped to do, she still would never be able to grow a womb, feel a child of her own making inside of her.

That small part of Sabine's brain reminded her that being attracted to women, even after transitioning, she would still be unable to be impregnated by her wife. But another part of her brain reminded her that insemination was always a choice, but then that first part of the brain reminded her that it could never be a choice for _her_.

_It's too soon for any such thoughts_, Sabine tried to remind herself, taking a deep breath before going back to working on the blocks.

"You okay?" whispered Clio, the dark-haired girl with coffee-colored skin sitting across from Sabine. She was sketching the still life onto white paper, planning to use colored pencil instead of charcoal. "You look down."

The large desks were in six groups of four in the spacious classroom (more like a workroom with lockers for the Art III and IV students and racks for drying canvases), but Oliver was absent, leaving Clio and Sabine the only two in their group.

"I'm fine, but thanks," Sabine whispered back, trying for a smile.

Clio didn't look convinced, dark eyes sparkling, but she finally gave a small exhale and went back to work, deciding it best not to pry.

Maybe it'd be best if someone pried. So many people stepped away from people getting berated or looking as if their world had fallen apart because it was none of their business. Maybe in some cases that may seem like the best option, but Sabine sometimes wondered if things would get easier if she would just get the chance to talk. Only, she was scared, and she didn't know anything about Clio other than that she had trouble with blending the colors and creating good contrast in her paintings. Sabine knew she did really well with pencils and pastels, but she didn't know any more than that.

Later today, though, Sabine might just have her chance. Tinka had promised her this morning that she would be by her side the entire time, and she'd told Sabine that Anya had been trying to convince Apa that a psychologist might be the best option at the moment. It gave the twins some hope for Anya possibly coming around one of these days, but Apa had always been very stubborn, his views on psychologists being that they sucked money away by doing what should be the job of family, friends, and the church.

Sabine going to a psychologist would likely be seen as an affront on his and Squitza's parenting, so to get Sabine into that office would take a lot of arguing and convincing. Tinka had passed on that Baba was very supportive of her, and the thought that Baba liked Sabine's new name made a small smile return to her face.

There was a fight ahead, but with Tinka and Baba behind her, Sabine knew that she could not cower. She couldn't just let herself, her feelings, be shoved down and bulldozed over. Not this time.

**XXX**

Although she hadn't been completely thrilled about Gunther—no, Sabine, Rocky had to remind herself—joining them at first, since her presence had kept Rocky from talking more about what had happened with CeCe, she'd had to admit that the new light in the blonde's eyes had seemed to make her own spirit rise. Sabine was going through much and would have to confront her father this afternoon, and the thought made Rocky think that maybe, just maybe, she would be able to confront her own parents one day about her faith—well, the _lack_ of it, anyway.

There were many people saying that a person's beliefs were their own business and shouldn't have to be shared, but Rocky, while agreeing that sometimes that could be best, felt that her parents deserved to know. She couldn't live a lie her entire life. She still preferred her plan on keeping it under wraps until after she graduated, but she _was_ going to tell them. Otherwise, how would she answer questions about what church she'd found by her campus? What responses would she give about on-campus ministries or student bible studies?

She'd never liked the idea about lying, and she wasn't going to force herself to do so just to appease the idea her parents had about her growing up as a good, God-fearing Christian woman, who would meet a good, God-fearing Christian man and have good, God-fearing Christian children.

With her thoughts on college and her parents, Rocky hadn't been keeping her mind on class, barely hearing her name being called.

"Miss Blue?" called Mr. Zigfeld, the poetry teacher, an eyebrow raised in question. "Have you been listening?"

Blinking, Rocky sat up straighter, one hand going to the long, pink sleeve of the top she was wearing under her **Invisible Pink Unicorn** T-shirt. "Um, I'm sorry. I guess I've been feeling stressed lately."

In the classroom of about twenty-five, there were a few snickers of students happy to see Genius Girl stumped while a few others just looked at her as if confused while the rest only wanted the bell to hurry up and ring.

With a sigh, the dark-skinned man fixed his signature blue silk scarf and repeated his earlier request for who had been his star pupil (though that wasn't exactly much of an honor in what was usually known as an Easy A Class): "In what way could 'Dover Beach' be expressing the speaker's views on religion in the past and his present?"

Glancing down, Rocky quickly looked over the second of the three pages that had been passed out at the beginning of class. Usually, the class was more of a workshop to _write_ poetry, but once or twice a week, Mr. Zigfeld passed out different poems for the class to look over and analyze. Today was "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold, "Our Bog is Dood" by Stevie Smith, and "next to of course god america i" by E.E. Cummings.

Rocky had read each three times before the discussion had begun, so Rocky didn't really _need_ to reread the poem; she just needed a few moments to round up her thoughts and get back into "school mode".

After taking a breath, Rocky began her answer, part of which was from notes she'd made on the page in pencil: "The speaker's view on religion becomes obvious the third stanza. It's stated that 'the Sea of Faith / was once, too, at the full', which likely speaks of the past when religion completely saturated the daily life and didn't have to worry about standing up against the rising doubt in Arnold's time. The poem shows this to cause the speaker great melancholy, the doubt brought about new ideas such as Darwinism as well as the Industrial Revolution making faith retreat in a 'long, withdrawing roar'…"

Only a few of the students seemed to be listening to Rocky's analysis, jotting down notes while others kept glancing up at the analog clock above the chalk board.

"Very insightful," Mr. Zigfeld said with a smile when Rocky was finished. "Now, Rocky used a very important word for this poem: _Melancholy_…"

Again, Rocky's mind wandered, though she tried to keep it on the lesson. She liked "Dover Beach". The way it sounded when read aloud often made her close her eyes and just feel, like when she listened to a ballad on her computer or Blackberry Q10. However, her mind and eye kept going to "Our Bog is Dood" by Stevie Smith, which they'd talked about earlier:

_Our Bog is dood, our Bog is dood,  
They lisped in accents mild,  
But when I asked them to explain  
They grew a little wild.  
How do you know your Bog is dood  
My darling little child?_

_We know because we wish it so  
This is enough, they cried,  
And straight within each infant eye  
Stood up the flame of pride,  
And if you do not think it so  
You shall be crucified._

_Then tell me, darling little ones,  
What's dood, suppose Bog is?  
Just what we think, the answer came,  
Just what we think it is.  
They bowed their heads. Our Bog is ours  
And we are wholly his._

_But when they raised them up again  
They had forgotten me  
Each one upon each other glared  
In pride and misery  
For what was dood, and what their Bog  
They never could agree._

_Oh sweet it was to leave them then,  
And sweeter not to see,  
And sweetest of all to walk alone  
Beside the encroaching sea,  
The sea that soon should drown them all,  
That never yet drowned me._

The poem wasn't exactly subtle about the speaker's view on religion, whereas even in "Dover Beach", it had taken Rocky a couple of read-throughs before she thought she could see what the speaker was talking about besides just the sound of the ocean—though in all honesty, poetry had never really been her thing.

Smith's poem seemed to reflect how Rocky tended to see religion nowadays. The speaker asked someone she saw as childish in her eyes about how she could know whether or not God was good. The child's—believer's—answer had been a simple one—"Because we wish it so"—but this innocence had quickly turned to anger out of the pride such a sure, absolute answer had given the the believer telling the speaker that if she did not agree, she would "be crucified."

Rocky saw that so often, it made her fear ever coming out as having opinions different than what was expected. She was seen by the believers as an insider, but Rocky actually now watched from the outside, sometimes forgetting that the "encroaching sea" as described by the poem had once upon a time nearly drowned _her_. She could still feel that cold saltwater leaving her skin chilled, sticky, and dry. She may now walk further away from the shore, alone, but safe, shivering as she watched the children argue over their Bog, what he was, and just what dood was and entailed.

Only, walking alone wasn't always sweetest of all, which was the main reason Rocky had wanted to start reaching out again. She needed to have CeCe by her side again, but there was no way for their hips to get fused together as they'd been before when circumstance and stubbornness had caused Rocky to push her friend away from her side so harshly. She'd pushed everyone away, shivering against the wind brought by being so close to the sea.

_Not anymore_, thought Rocky as Mr. Zigfeld asked Evan Worthy to read "next to of course god america i" aloud.

After school today, Rocky had work, but CeCe would stop by so they could talk during Rocky's break and then continue the conversation after Rocky's shift was over. The two may have lost what was old, but Rocky decided that she needed to try and focus on gaining something new.

**_Sabine will be talking to Kashlack and Squitza in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed this one, and, sorry, but I may not be posting the next chapter for about a week. I leave for a trip tomorrow, and even if I bring my laptop with me, I probably won't get the chance to post anything until after I get back. Anyway, I hope y'all will enjoy what's coming up!_**


	28. Civil Talk

**Chapter 28: Civil Talk**

"_I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do." - from To Kill a Mockingbird_

Kashlack paced. He couldn't yell. Not at his son.

_Son_, not daughter.

After Gunther had run out of the apartment last night, Squitza's biggest fear had revealed itself: Gunther would leave and not come back.

In all honesty, that had always been Kashlack's biggest fear as well. He'd felt it swell within him on that grey-washed day when Gunther, Tinka right beside him, had sat his parents down to deliver big news he had been keeping to himself for a long time.

Those moments where Gunther had remained silent, eyes on the cream-colored carpet had been excruciating.

He couldn't really be gay as Kashlack had overheard neighbors say, right?

Not drugs. Gunther would never touch such filth, would he?

God help him if he'd gotten a girl pregnant.

No, it hadn't been any of those, but the truth had seemed worse. Maybe it shouldn't have; Kashlack didn't know. Gunther was healthy physically, but it was obvious that there'd been something amiss with his mind. Something Kashlack had either just been blind to or had _blinded himself_ to.

Which was it? Did it matter? It had to.

Maybe if they'd gotten Gunther some help as a child… Maybe if Kashlack had guided him better… Had been a better father…

As if reading his mind, a talent most women seemed to gain the knack for upon saying their vows, Squitza whispered, "You should not blame yourself, _schätzchen_."

The woman sat on the couch, hair pulled up into a tight bun but for several crimped locks that fell around her face and over her shoulders. Her pastel green eyes glittered in worry and concern, hands perfect for the violin if she would pick it up once again wringing themselves over her lap, shifting some of the ruffles in her sparkling-silver tiered skirt.

Shaking his head slowly as he paced, Kashlack solemnly responded, "It is the job of the parent to guide their children in the right direction. If they fail, it falls upon us, me especially."

Exhaling slowly, Squitza shook her head. Her husband had always taken his place as head of the household very seriously, always wanting to make sure everyone was cared for. Even though Squitza had been given her share of the inheritance already, Kashlack still worked hard to make sure all of their wants instead of only there bare needs were met.

He had never pressured his children into finding jobs—quite the opposite, really. Kashlack had never finished school (he got his GED and an Associate's degree here in Chicago) and wanted education to be what his children focused on, so he had had a lengthy discussion with Gunther when he'd spoken of applying for jobs, the two of them weighing out the pros and cons.

The pros had ended up winning, Gunther sharp and full of great spirit Kashlack was proud to have been able to watch and nurture. He had only made sure to make the seventeen-year-old promise to quit if it looked like his grades were slipping. Gunther was already working harder than the other students due to some clinical error or something—he'd tried going to the principal and Gunther's and Tinka's class counselor, but it had been of no use, some of the files from the homeschooling Gunther had received back in the Old Country not having successfully transferred. The boy shouldn't have to push himself too hard mentally.

Now, though, Kashlack had to wonder just where this longing to find a job had come from.

Was Squitza's fear really so valid? Could Gunther have gotten that job who store money away to leave them?

Trying to mull all this over, the door opened, Kashlack rising to his feet as Gunther entered, cobalt blue eyes so much like Katka's shining in apprehension and fear. His mouth, though, was a straight line trying not to portray any sort of emotion.

As the door closed, Tinka slipped in, her hair in a coiled bun atop her head today, decorated with ribbons that, when together, made a rainbow. Tendrils hung around her face, artfully made to look as if they had fallen from her bun, the honey-colored locks having lost their bounce, almost straight again. Her grey-green eyes were hard, and her pink-painted lips were pressed tightly together. Her be-dazzled backpack hit the floor at the same time as her brother's, and she also dropped her lilac-colored overcoat, and today's knee-length dress looked like it had been crafted from wide ribbons colored like the ones in her hair, thrown over a silver-and-gold cat suit with sleeves that ended at her elbows.

She likely saw it as the perfect outfit for this conversation.

Before anything bad could be said, Squitza went over to her son, today's skirt and short heels allowing her more movement than many of her other outfits.

"I am so happy you are alright," she gushed, giving Gunther three pecks on each, interchanging with each kiss.

Allowing his mother to greet him but refusing to return it—though he flinched as if about to on impulse—and Squitza bit her bottom lip before slinking back to the couch. From the corner of the room, Katka looked up from the needlepoint.

The twins stood in front of the waist-high bookcase, both with their arms crossed.

After a breath, Gunther open with an apology: "I am sorry for running off last night. I should not have done so."

Muscles beginning to ease, Kashlack gave a nod. "We forgive you. I should not have exploded the way I did."

He made himself sit down. If Gunther ran away last night, he could (and likely would) do so again. Squitza would fall apart if that happened, and Kashlack would not do much better no matter how he tried to hide his distress and pain.

Gunther was his son, his child no matter how much older he got. No matter how independent.

The twins shared many traits: Creativity and artistic skill very few could seem to match; quick wits that probably got them into more trouble with classmates than anything; great independence the Hessenheffer parents were both very proud of; and dancing talent that could make one or both very famous one day if they find just the right amount of luck to pair with their gifts.

So many times, it seemed the only thing separating the two was gender.

Now, both claimed that that was not necessarily true, but Kashlack would have none of it!

Boys were boys, and girls were girls.

Gunther was a boy, now a man. He had a man's body. Whatever he _thought_ he was, it would have to be dealt with. Kashlack blamed himself. He should have seen the signs earlier. He should have seen that something was off and had gotten his son help earlier. That way it wouldn't have gone on this long. Caused him so much mental harm and strain on this family.

"Please, just listen," Gunter requested, eyes pleading. "First, all CeCe has done is listen. I did not even know she was part of that club until later."

Kashlack gave a nod. He still did not like this girl as a friend of either of his children. Not only was she an office-holder of that Godless club, but he remembered that she and her friend had not exactly been the most polite girls he had met.

The dark-haired girl may have thought the family had been deaf to her offhand comments, but that had been far from true. It had also been evident that the short redhead had wanted nothing more than to leave for that concert (he remembered hearing the name Katy Perry, and it was of no surprise those two were fans of a woman sending messages of kissing another girl, getting drunk, and having sex to millions of impressionable teenagers and children).

One hand going through his hair, Gunther began to speak, voice much clearer and with more conviction than almost two years ago: "I am transgender."

The words came slowly, and there was a small pause, those eyes searching for a reaction. Kashlack bit his tongue. He would let Gunther keep going. He had to keep this delicate, otherwise he may never see his son again. Squitza's urging to find a therapist kept coming back to mind, and Kashlack had to admit that he could see no other option right now.

Gunther took another breath. "I have said this to you before, but I have to now say it again. Only, I am not asking for help this time. Not when it got me sent to Isidor Batchi's farm to have who I am _worked_ out of me!"

Squitza's hand pressed on Kashlack's shoulder before he had the chance to get to his feet, marble green eyes flashing as his tongue grew sore from his teeth. Any harder, and he would soon be tasting blood.

Eyes going to the ground for a bit, Gunther looked to be reigning in the temper he apparently had inherited when it had been thought Tinka had been the only one to receive that trait.

Eyes returning to his parents, Gunther said, "I'm asking for support. This is not just something I want. It is something I _need_. Me being transgender does not mean either of you did anything wrong, and it certainly does not _I_ did anything wrong. It is part of who I am. Tinka supports and loves me. CeCe has been listening to what I have been going through, what I have been feeling for as long as I can remember. It's not sin, and it's not unnatural. God made me this way and loves me unconditionally. Can you?"

That question was very accusatory, and Kashlack felt even more ashamed for sending his son away instead of helping him through this himself. It was the father's duty, and he prayed for forgiveness.

Standing slowly and feeling both his wife's and mother's eyes on him, Kashlack calmly responded, "Yes, I love you no matter what. I am your father, and that can never change."

Although Gunther nodded, there was such relief (although guarded) in those eyes, it made the man hesitate. Had that been Gunther's biggest fear? That Kashlack would disown him immediately and take away all his love?

Of course it had. Kashlack hadn't exactly shown himself as one capable of unconditional love. The title "father" was supposed to give that message itself, but in times where tales of parents throwing their children out into the street or even abuse them, Kashlack realized that the term "parent" did not carry the message of unending love as it should.

"However," he continued, mouth twitching at Gunther's visible wince and Tinka's sudden frown, "I do not believe in any of this 'girl in a boy's body' or 'boy in a girl's body' talk. God is perfect, and while He loves you as He loves all unconditionally, it is inconceivable how this 'condition' could ever be part of His plan unless it was to make you stronger."

"Apa—!"

Tinka's wail was cut off by Squitza, who got to her feet. "Neither of us can understand where this sort of thing could possibly come from, so we have been discussing a therapist for you."

There was a spark in Gunther's eyes Kashlack could not read.

Finally piping up, Katka requested, "May I suggest a Dr. Viktoriya Reeves?"

Everyone turned back to look at the old woman, who had gone back to her stitching.

"I heard of her when Katinka took me out," Katka continued, "and not only could she help with these problems, she would be able to help the rest of us understand just what is going on." She looked up, eyes sharp as they met her son's. "You speak of God's plan, but He is the only one who knows it. However, if there is one thing _I_ know, this family getting torn apart should not be part of it."

Kashlack understood the message: _Son or daughter, that is your child, and you better damn well not push because of your own refusal to listen and understand. If this family falls apart, it is on your shoulders_.

Turning back to Gunther, Kashlack bit his tongue again before daring to speak. "You will be going. That is the end of this discussion, as it seems we would reach an impasse any other way."

Finally, Gunther's features began to soften, making him look like he was relieved but also disappointed. Most of all, though, he looked exhausted.

"Okay," he whispered, seeming ready to give in for now.

Tinka gave a nod as well, and she leaned towards her brother, looking very tired as well.

"Now, get your homework done," Kashlack instructed. "We'll be having dinner in a few hours. I will begin looking at this Dr. Reeves. We can talk more on this another day."

"Experience says after the first appointment may be best," said Katka. "I think we can all be civil until then, yes Gunther?" Her eyes came up to her grandson's, the tone taken with his name portraying a message Kashlack did not understand.

However, Gunther seemed to, nodding. "Yes, Baba."

The twins got their things and went into Gunther's room, Mut and Thirteen exploding out before realizing their humans were going in. The two animals then scampered back in to follow before the door closed.

Groaning, Kashlack sunk back into the couch, letting his wife rub his shoulders as she hummed, trying to calm the both of them down. There had been no yelling this afternoon, but it had still been a hard talk, the fear of Gunther simply deciding to leave and live elsewhere by himself in the forefront of Kashlack's mind the entire time. It was hard for him to conceive letting some stranger pick at his son's brain, possibly trying to lead him in a way that he wasn't meant to go.

It was the parents' jobs to guide and teach. Sending Gunther to someone that got paid doing a parent's and the church's job made him feel like a failure as a father.

What had he done? What could he _possibly_ have done to make his son turn away so far from where he had been trying to lead him?

When Squitza was pregnant, they had decided against learning the genders until they were born, but both had known what they wanted: Squitza a girl and Kashlack a boy. When they had ended up with both, it had been like God had decided to answer both their prayers at once.

Now their children were insisting that they were both the same gender: female.

Kashlack refused to believe.

It _was_ unnatural. It _was_ sin.

Getting back to his feet, Kashlack announced that he was going to go to the altar. It was at the back of the hall, next to his and Squitza's room.

As he headed there to pray, Katka remarked, "Maybe instead of praying to change Gunther, you should try praying to change yourself."

**_I think I tried writing this chapter like five times before I finally tried it in Kashlack's POV... But I got it done! :D I'll have the next chapter up sooner than I did this one, but I will be leaving for school soon, and I will also be trying to work on more of my originals. So I can't promise how often I'll be able to update, sorry. :/ I hope all of you are enjoying the story, though. :)_**


	29. An Idea

**Chapter 29: An Idea**

"_Trouble is part of your life, and if you don't share it, you don't give the person who loves you enough chance to love you enough." - Dinah Shore_

The dark grey leather club chair over in the corner was just big enough for both Ty and Tinka to sit in, the blonde's hair down for today but for two thin braids on the left side of her head tied together halfway down that waterfall of honey that tickled Ty's face as she leaned into him, the two almost the same height when she wore heels, like today. Her hair smelled of flowers, and she held her cup of ginger tea on her knee, legs crossed as her head rested on her boyfriend's chest.

The café wasn't too busy this afternoon, though with midterms in a few weeks, it was sure to start getting full with chatter, the clicking of laptop keys, and pages turning with sharp snaps before long. The place wasn't far from the campus library, and Ty was applying for a job here. It'd be easier to get to than the entertainment shop at Lakeview Mall, and as much as his friend Simon liked to complain about it, he had to admit that it was a nice place to work.

"So you think everything will be a'ight?" Ty inquired, taking a sip of his Americano. There was a small table to his left, his right arm keeping Tinka close. He hated seeing her down, always wanting to do everything within his power to see her smile again.

"I hope so," murmured the girl, taking another sip of her tea. Her throat had been bothering her, she'd claimed, and Ty would be accompanying her to the store for some garlic cloves and honey after they finished their drinks. "Papa made the appointment last night, so that's good. Sabine will be seeing Dr. Reeves on Monday."

It still took a little bit of thought to translate Sabine to Gunther, but Ty knew it wouldn't be long before he'd have to even bother with such a translation. He was a little embarrassed about his first reaction to Sabine's confession about being transgender, but it had been more surprise than anything. While there had always been jokes that Sabine was gay (turns out she was, but sometimes those thoughts got a little confusing), but trans?

Of course Ty and Deuce accepted her. They were both friends with Liam, and they liked Sabine as a person, now that she and Tinka weren't putting everyone down.

It had actually been a shock when Ty had first begun thinking of actually dating Tinka Hessenheffer, but the poor girl had seemed so lost being by herself. She'd become friends with Dina, and at that time, her attitude seemed to have toned down some. At first, Tinka had seemed a little clingy when Ty was hanging out with her, Dina, and Deuce, acting like a jilted lover whenever Ty began to flirt with whichever hot girl passed by. Sure, Ty had remembered their first date where he'd been paid to take her out, and he remembered how they'd had fun, especially dancing to that sax player.

However, it hadn't been until that memorial CeCe had set up that Ty looked over, seeing the blonde's hair and eyes glow in the candlelight. She had always had spirit, which Ty had been attracted to, but he had never been sure they could have anything serious between them.

Now, though, nothing else felt nearly as right as his arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest.

They'd hit a speed bump when Tinka had tried to dress him, but they laughed at it now. Ty wasn't a man made for sparkles, and Tinka had admitted that she really did prefer him in his high-tops, skinny jeans, and fedoras—she called them cute, much to Ty's irritation sometimes, preferring to be called "hot" or "sexy".

"Dr. Reeves should be able to help," Ty assured. "After I first heard of her, it drove me crazy, 'cause I recognized her name from somewhere." His lips turned up in a small smile as those grey-green eyes met his dark brown ones. "Turns out she wrote one of the required reading books for a class I'll be taking next year."

That dazzling smile arrived, making Ty's heart quicken. He never grew tired of that smile or the feelings it caused within him. He wanted things taken slowly, and he loved that even with her extravagant air, Tinka took her spirituality seriously, which included the same values Ty had when it came to a romantic relationship.

"You tink everyting will be okay?" she asked.

"'Course I do," Ty answered, telling the honest truth.

Letting out a long breath, Tinka leaned back into her boyfriend, bringing the hot tea to her lips. Ty could smell the spiciness of the ginger from where he sat, not even having to taste it to feel it warm his body.

As Ty took another sip of his coffee, Tinka muttered, "Apa doesn't want me or Sabine being friends with CeCe. I'm not close to her, but vat about Sabine? She deserves to have friends like you and her."

Ty nodded. There had been various times where his parents had told Rocky that CeCe was a bad influence, but they'd always been unsuccessful in trying to keep the two apart. Eventually, they'd given up, hoping that Rocky would be a good influence and help CeCe up instead of getting dragged down. There was no doubt in Ty's mind that if they found out about Rocky's current lack of faith, they would blame CeCe. It was much easier to have someone pull another down than it was to try and carry that same person up.

It was nice seeing the two try to talk to one-another again, and Ty hoped that the two girls could become close once more. People kept saying that friends came and went, but having seen those two connected at the hip for so long, Ty wasn't against saying that they were probably more like siblings than he and Rocky were.

"You know I'll help how I can," Ty whispered into that thick, soft hair.

"Thank you."

The silence between the two for the next twenty minutes was far from awkward. The two felt so comfortable with one-another, words did not need to be said for them to know the other would always be there. Words were only a formality. They only needed presence, and even as Ty's right leg began to go numb, neither moved until it was time to leave the café, Ty throwing away the cups as Tinka shrugged on her hot pink pea coat with the zebra-print interior lining. There was gold stitching at the hems—"Pure torture!" Tinka had described the process, though once started, her OCD had kept her from quitting until the designs were finished.

It looked like a series of lilies, growing, blooming, and then wilting at the back of the coat before a new one bloomed in its place. According to Tinka, she'd gotten the idea to stitch the lilies from the _Vampire Academy_ book series, which Dina had urged her to read. Ty and Deuce often slumped while the girls would gush about Dimitri, Christian, or Adrian. The lilies had to do with Tinka's favorite character, Sydney Sage.

After both were bundled up, they went to a nearby grocery store, finding what Tinka needed while passing by some of Ty's classmates stocking up on Ramen noodles. The sight of such a food made Tinka wrinkle her cute button nose, making Ty laugh. The Hessenheffer sisters seemed to both hate anything with "instant" in the name, whether it be noodles, rice, or coffee.

Along with the garlic and a jar of honey, Tinka also picked up a small bag of potatoes for the dumplings for haluski. Tinka would be making it tonight with her mother, and she'd promised to save some to bring Ty tomorrow so he could try it. With how intimidating Kashlack could be, Ty did not have dinner with them often, and what with what was happening now, it might actually be best to leave them to talk to one-another alone for a while.

"Why not just pick up some Dayquil or something?" asked Ty as the two made their way to the check-out line, hand-in-hand.

As a kid following his dad around the hospital on various occasions, Ty had seen quite a few patients where Curtis would remark how they could have been helped much sooner and wouldn't have had to go through so much pain (and on a few occasions, operation) if they hadn't forgone modern medicine for things like homeopathy and herbal supplements. Curtis had always called such things "snake oil", telling Ty that it was correct that herbs had been used to treat illness, so had leeches and exorcisms.

"There's a reason the lifespan in developed countries is so much higher now," Curtis had said to his son. He was all for praying for God to help someone struck with illness, but going to the doctor did not equal not having enough faith in Him to answer.

However, he and Marcie still reached for the chamomile tea with honey or peppermint gum when Rocky or Ty had complained of a belly ache as kids, and Marie often sipped from a small cup of black coffee for headaches before reaching or Ibuprofen or Excedrin. And, of course, pouring sage over a cut to slow or stop the breathing was something Ty had learned from his dad as well.

"It's just a sore throat," Tinka replied before coughing some. "And a small cough. I vill take medicine if I don't start getting better, but I usually do if I take this early on." She lifted the basket with the two garlic bulbs, honey jar, and potatoes. "We've alvays used home remedies first in my home. Dey help."

She smiled, and Ty could not help but smile as well.

Ty said, "Yeah, Mom or Dad will have us try a certain tea or something if it's just a stomach ache or sore throat, though I usually just go ahead and get something from the medicine cabinet."

Tinka gave one of her tinkling laughs at that, sounding gravelly due to her throat.

"'Sides," Ty amended as they reached the line, "coffee has tons of antioxidants, so that helps keep me from getting sick." He lifted one hand, fingers curled into a fist, bending his arm as if to show off his muscles.

The subjects spoken of during the couple's walk from the grocery store to Tinka's apartment building were small.

After Tinka ranted about her history teacher, Ty told her about a debate between a student in his Bible as Literature course and the professor. Tinka spoke about some new outfits she was working on, and Ty said he had finally broken through the writer's block for a rap he had been writing. When the two were just a couple blocks away from the building and both had noses the color of cherries, the conversation turned to Prom.

"So when do the tickets go on sale again?" asked Ty, his thumb drawing circles on the back of Tinka's hand. Even though the cold had no problem reaching his fingers through his leather gloves, the hand he had locked in his girlfriend's was still very warm. "Should be in a few weeks, right?"

"Yeah," replied Tinka almost shyly, smiling wide. "Next month I think, right after midterms end. There vill be fundraisers until then for eet."

The two had gone to Ty's Senior Prom last year, but Tinka wanted to go to hers as well, double-dating with Deuce and Dina.

"Vill Rocky be going?" Tinka asked.

That was a very good question, and Ty could only sigh as he responded, "I don't know. Hoping so. She's been saving up since her freshman year, but I'm not sure if she'll go or just keep it for college or something."

Rocky had been far from sociable the past couple years, but Deuce had said she'd started greeting him and Dina in the hall again. It wasn't much, but it was more than when she'd been acting like a mouse-person, skittering around from place to place and not willing to make eye-contact with anyone.

"I hope she comes," sighed Tinka. "You've been really vurried about her, and so have I. She needs some fun. Sabine too."

Blinking, it wasn't until it felt as if his left shoulder had just nearly gotten yanked out of its socket that Ty stopped and inched back to look at his girlfriend's ivory face, which had a neutral look of deep thought, a wrinkle forming between her brows that were still red from waxing. After a moment when Ty opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, though, it suddenly looked as if sunlight finally came to that beautiful face, her bright eyes locking on Ty's as she smiled even lighter, cheeks nearly becoming the same shade as her nose.

The gesture always contagious, the nineteen-year-old boy felt his own chapped lips crack as they stretched. "What are ya thinkin' now?"

"Ve can figure out how to get Rocky to Prom later, but as for Sabine?" Those deep-set eyes sparkled. "I tink I have a _great_ idea!" She let go of Ty's hand, the plastic of her grocery bag swinging as her palms met, fingers going to her chin in thought. "Oh, I vill need my sketchbook!"

Finally, Ty understood, and he brought Tinka into a tight embrace, the floral scent of her shampoo and conditioner drifting into his flat-bridged nose. His lips sought hers, and he could taste strawberry as his tongue ran over her bottom lip. She gave the smallest of shutters before pulling closer, her lips coming together with his bottom lip between them as the kiss ended.

"I'm sure she'll love your idea," Ty whispered, knowing that no matter how Mr. and Mrs. Hessenheffer ended up reacting to Sabine, she would always have her sister standing there right beside her.


	30. Easy Saturday

**Chapter 30: Easy Saturday**

"_The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them." - George Bernard Shaw_

There had not been as much argument about Sabine attending church with his friend Bekka as she had thought there would be. She had brought up the idea on Thursday over dinner, and it seemed that until after the therapy session on Monday, Apa and Anya would be, more or less, trying to appease Sabine in little things such as that.

Most likely, it came from their fear of Sabine leaving them, and she had to admit that being pushed to that point had been a major fear for her that afternoon.

She was relieved beyond all belief that it hadn't had to come to that, and she thanked God that she would get to speak with Dr. Reeves. The only thing that still made her heart ache was that it seemed definite that Apa would never accept her as Sabine. He might _tolerate_ her as time went on, but he would never _accept_ her.

Sabine didn't want just tolerance. She wanted acceptance.

Only, she knew it would be hard when she had only very recently accepted herself.

It was now Saturday, Sabine heading down for lunch at Crusty's to meet CeCe and Deuce. Tinka had recruited Dina to help her with something for some sort of gift. She had been working hard on it the past few days, but whenever Sabine had tried to figure out what, she'd been shooed away.

Upon hearing a sharp whistle, the blonde stopped her descent down the stairs and turned, spotting Alexia at the chess table. Entering the game room, Sabine giggled at the sight of a familiar Asian girl pouting at a back table as she read from an e-reader.

"Haven't seen you in a while," Alexia commented, setting up the chess pieces.

"I have a job now," said Sabine proudly, shrugging off her beige trench coat before sitting down across from the auburn-haired girl.

Sabine amended, "I actually have to be dere at three-thirty today. I'm meeting up with some friends first." She moved one of her pawns to spaces forward.

The knight went down with a **thump** as Alexia's mouth curved into a smile. "Nice. I only have about three minutes of my break, so I'm going to have to beat you fast."

"Oh?" Sabine laughed, though she didn't doubt that the girl could beat her with only a few moves. She said she'd been in a championship a few times, and it showed.

"Liam said you were going to church with him and Bekka tomorrow," said Alexia. "I've watched some UU sermons online." She fixed her ponytail after taking away Sabine's bishop. "Looks cool, but I still like Catholicism, even if people tend to see it as intolerant and stuff. There are cathedrals out there that welcome everyone, gay, trans, or purple with pink poka-dots—"

Sabine couldn't help but laugh at that.

"—and I'd like to find a church like that when I move out. Liam and Bekka are willing to help, so that'll be great." She smiled, but her blue eyes showed it a bittersweet happiness.

It was something Sabine understood well. There was a high price to being yourself sometimes, and a choice needed to be made: Love yourself or hide to make others happy.

However, Liam had brought up a wonderful quote by André Gide in response to that: "It's better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you're not."

Before the three minutes were up, Alexia was true to her word in forcing Sabine to topple her king.

Getting up, the girls shook hands, Alexia saying, "Nice. Just practice more if you want to be able to best me next time. I'll send you the link to the site I use."

Following the waitress down the stairs, Sabine replied, "Thanks. I would like dat."

As Alexia went into the kitchen, Sabine found CeCe pushing one of the round tables closer to another one so that there would be plenty of room when the others arrived.

"Need any help?" Sabine inquired, draping her coat on the back of one of the chairs.

"Nah, almost done," CeCe grunted, dragging two chairs over at once.

Even though CeCe had declined the help, Sabine grabbed the last chair anyway, placing it in the space next to the chair she had claimed. The redhead plopped down onto the cushy seat with a heavy sigh. Her hair was in a low, messy bun, and she didn't bother with her coat when it started slipping from between her back and the chair to the floor.

"Oh my God…," moaned CeCe as her arms crossed on the table, face moving down to be hidden by them.

Right then, Deuce came by, dressed for work and unable to join the party until his break in about an hour. He looked down at CeCe with a thoughtful frown, raven hair nearly brushing over the tops of his eyes. He only looked at her for a moment before deciding to scribble something on his pad.

"I'll just get her a garden salad and Sierra Mist. How 'bout you? Dr. Pepper and a panini?" he asked as Alexia came out of the back to ask a couple that had just come in about their order.

"Pizza salad," replied Sabine, eyes going to her exhausted-looking friend. "And just water today. No ice."

"Lemon?" Deuce wrote down the order and smiled at Sabine. "Since water and the lemon wedges are free, I usually snatch some of the sugar packs as well and make myself lemonade."

Chuckling, Sabine nodded. "Yes, please."

When Deuce went into the back, the blonde leaned down onto the table and questioned, "You alright?"

Head popping up as her elbows propped up on the table so her chin could rest between her fists, CeCe groaned, "I didn't realize helping that stupid fundraiser was going to be so much work!"

It was hard to stifle a laugh at that. CeCe had announced to Sabine and Rocky as they walked to school Tuesday morning that she would be helping with the baking for the sales next week, and the group had needed to stop as Rocky leaned against a wall to keep herself from falling over as she guffawed. It really was no secret that no one in the Jones family could cook, so it had to be interesting having CeCe helping out with a bake sale.

"So how many cookies did you burn?"

Tawny-brown eyes narrowing, CeCe remarked, "It was just one pie, and it was still totally edible!"

"Uh-huh… I am guessing you were put on dish duty?"

Eyes closing, CeCe frowned in disgust and shame as she nodded. "It was so gross! My hands got all prune-ie and _everything_!"

Coming to the table with the drinks when that had been said, Deuce laughed. "Come on, dish duty's not that bad. Before Uncle Frank decided I was ready for waiting tables, I was on busboy and dish duty for, like, three months."

There was barely enough time to scoot away before water and Sierra Mist sloshed over the tops of the cups, Deuce having slipped on something—possibly the universe deciding he hadn't screwed up enough as of late.

Wiping her hands on the sides of her skinny jeans, CeCe muttered, "Maybe he should have kept you there longer."

Sighing, Deuce slumped as he headed for the kitchen again. "I'll bring you some napkins…"

Scooting back up to the table, Sabine asked, "Any luck in talking Rocky into going to Prom?"

Letting out another moan, CeCe slumped back in the chair. "No, not yet." She sighed again and sat up straighter as Deuce returned with two handfuls of napkins. "Thanks. Try not to slip on that invisible puddle again."

"Ha-ha." Deuce helped mop up the liquid. "I'll be back in a bit with an extra soda and to refill your water, and Dina should be arriving in maybe twenty minutes with Tinka. Something about shopping first."

"For what?" asked CeCe, handing back the soaked napkins once the table was mostly-dry.

Deuce shrugged. "Don't know. Secret, apparently, and she thinks I'll spill the beans."

CeCe nodded. "Smart girl."

"Hey!"

Once Deuce was gone again, CeCe inquired, "So, feeling good about the therapy sesh coming up on Monday?"

Mouth curving into a small smile, Sabine nodded. "Yeah, I tink so. A little nervous too, I guess. Never thought I'd speak to a stranger about all dis."

Taking a sip of her soda, CeCe nodded. "I get it. She should be great, though. Liam said she is. Anyway, have you been giving anymore thought about transitioning?" She seemed to pick up on the spark of apprehension in Sabine's eyes and quickly amended, "You can start small. Underwear, maybe. Even girl's jeans, and there are shirts you can get. I've seen both boys and girls wear shirts that look so alike, no one could know from what side of the store it's from."

"But how would I even shop—"

"Here you go!" announced Deuce, bringing over a water pitcher and a second cup of Sierra Mist. "Sorry 'bout that. I swear, I've been getting a lot better at this. I haven't even gotten an order wrong in, like, _four_ months."

"You're Super Waiter, alright," CeCe commented as Sabine laughed. "Thanks, though."

"You're welcome," replied Deuce after sticking his tongue out at the quip, and he tossed down a couple of straws from his apron. "Be back in a bit with your salads."

Once he was gone, CeCe said, "If you want the underwear, I suggest an actual lingerie store rather than some department store. Contrary to popular belief, it's the workers at the department store that are more likely to think you're a pervert or something. At a lingerie store, they'll assume you're shopping for a girlfriend, and there's no need to correct them if you don't want to. It's not their business anyway."

Unwrapping a straw, Gunther thought about that for a while, CeCe silently sipping her soda so she could.

It actually sounded very tempting, though the biggest fear, admittedly wasn't actually going into the stores. If she went in with CeCe or Tinka, no one would really look twice. But what about at home? Apa already went through her phone and laptop? Would he or Anya look through her closet and drawers as well?

Sabine decided she'd speak to Tinka. Maybe they could think of how to deal with it at home.

That brought a new question that really shouldn't have to exist: What about school?

With how Sabine had dressed before, would anyone _really_ notice if she wore girls' jeans? The underwear obviously wouldn't be noticed except in the locker room, but Sabine changed in the supply closet anyway, always making sure to be the last one to arrive to gym.

As if reading her mind, CeCe said, "With so many guys wearing skinny jeans now, I doubt anyone would notice if you wore girls' jeans. I mean, look at Ty. You _can't_ tell me you've never thought some of his pants are hand-me-ups from Rocky."

Tension melted as Sabine laughed. "They definitely look eet, but—"

"If you're _really_ worried, then just get a couple pairs of the panties and only wear 'em on weekends. Also, with your height, I almost don't want to mention this, but you should probably look at some heels. You may not need 'em, but I've yet to meet a girl who can't at least walk a straight line in heels."

Smiling again, Sabine nodded. There _had_ been a pair of sling-backs she'd been eyeing the last time she was at the mall, though she was forced to admit that it would probably be hard to find nice-looking shoes in her size. There was also a different measuring system for girls' and guys' shoes, like there was for pants, so she'd have to find that out as well.

At least with pants, though, she had a good guess thanks to Tinka. The jeans had slid up to her hips alright, but the button hadn't wanted to meet, and it had been then Sabine had realized they weren't her jeans.

_Let's see…,_ she thought, nodding in thanks when Deuce came by with CeCe's salad and a small bowl of lemon slices. _Tinka's a size five, so that'd make me a six or seven._

After Sabine's salad arrived and she bit into a pepperchini, she told CeCe, "Okay, sounds good. When would you like to go on de shopping trip?"

"Doing anything tomorrow?" questioned the redhead after swallowing a bite of her salad. She added more of the vinaigrette dressing Deuce had set next to her plate.

"Going to church wit Bekka and Liam," responded Sabine, stabbing some olives and pepperoni along with the lettuce. "De service starts at ten and would end, I'd guess at eleven-thirty or twelve. Would you like to come too? Ve can go to the mall aftervards, pick up someting to eat at the food court."

After some thought, CeCe shrugged. "Why not? I guess getting up early for one Sunday won't kill me."

**_To Advice Giver, thanks for what you've said; I know I have a tendency to go overboard on the descriptions. I try to keep an eye on that, but, looking back, it's obvious I needed to be reminded from time to time. I know someone else has mentioned the over-description before as well, so I will be trying to keep that in mind.  
However, I have leaned more towards description than dialogue, since most conflict I tend to focus on is inner conflict. I will try to find a balance, though, which is why I like using this site. Although I am currently trying to focus more on my originals, I like all the different comments and advice I've been getting on here over the years. So thank you! :) And thanks to everyone else, and I hope you keep reading and enjoying. :)_**


	31. Talk Back

**Chapter 31: Talk Back**

"_It is that permanent contradiction between your ideas and desires and all the dead formalities and vain pretenses of your civilization which makes you sad, troubled and unbalanced. In that intolerable conflict you lose all joy of life and all feeling of personality, because at every moment they suppress and restrain and check the free play of your powers. That's the poisoned and mortal wound of the civilized world." - from _Torture Garden_ by Octave Mirbeau_

Reverend Anne Touchtone had a powerful, uplifting voice, hands speaking just as much as her mouth as she walked around the stage, unable to stay still as she detailed a story from her college days. It had started with a reference Sabine did not know, and it had looked like many of the younger parishioners did not as well, the pastor then laughing and saying that she had just given away her age with that.

Dressed in a long-sleeved pale green top with a V-neck with slacks and flat-heeled boots, the woman with silver-laced, raven hair looked very different from the priest getting kisses on the edges of his vestments as he passed by on his way to the front at Sabine's usual church.

The blonde listened to how Reverend Anne, even with the biting Chicago wind stinging her skin through nothing more than a knitted sweater, she had never felt warmer, having given that woman huddled under a tattered, thread-bare blanket her new overcoat—the coat she had been saving money months for.

"That warmth I felt," proclaimed the reverend, hands out with the palms up as if receiving something, "was the warmth of the human spirit. Oh, that smile that woman gave me! The spark of hope as I handed her my coat, coming back only minutes later with hot soup and tea from the nearby deli… It was something so beautiful, so magnificent, I really feel that I fall short in describing it! It was something so small, and I wished I could have spared the money to offer her a place to stay out of that wind as well." She gave a small laugh as she shook her head. "But college, am I right?"

There were a few chuckles, both Bekka and Liam nodding in agreement.

"Before that night," continued the reverend, walking again, "I hadn't really noticed people like that woman—sorry if I keep calling her 'that woman', but I never thought to ask for her name. They had simply been ornaments to me, basically. Just _things_—not even as the people that they are!— that I'd see here and there but wouldn't think twice about!"

Looking over at CeCe, Sabine saw that the girl's red-painted lips were a straight line, thinking about all those homeless youths she had been raising money and supplies for through the GSA Club.

She would look up at Reverend Anne on occasion as if expecting her to say something she didn't like, but, so far, the older woman had been very kind and upbeat in her words, and while she shouldn't have been, Sabine was surprised to have heard almost no mention of Jesus or God. She tended to speak more of the graciousness of the human spirit, though she had quoted a few different sacred texts while speaking, so along with Jesus, Buddha, Gandhi, and Confucius.

Reverend Anne began to speak of continuing work to have more and more businesses incorporate the Pending System. After the story of "caffe sospeso" ("suspended coffee" or "pending coffee") went viral on the internet, various café chains in 2014 and 2015 picked up the practice as well at the urging or increasing numbers of people. Now, there were people hoping for the Pending System to expand, and several delis in Chicago offered "pending soup". Many were reluctant, however, as managers and shop-owners fearing the abuse of this system.

Having to adjust the earpiece that allowed her voice to carry across the large sanctuary, Reverend Anne moved on to the next part of her sermon:

"And thank you to all who have volunteered for the classes, and those that have not yet heard, it is my sincerest belief that while those in need should be offered the chance at food and shelter, education should not be downgraded! So every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, we hold classes, and more information can be found in the back, or you can ask myself. Baha'u'llah writes in _The Hidden Words_ 'O ye rich ones on earth! The poor in your midst are My trust; guard ye My trust, and be not intent only on your own ease'…"

At the end of the sermon, there was a time of meditation/prayer/quiet reflection, soft music playing for almost five minutes.

Sabine had no idea what to pray or even if she should.

"_I am always here."_

Blinking, Sabine strained her ears to hear that voice again but only heard the music and the breathing of people around her, someone nearby whispering, "Om…"

_Who… What…_ Sabine remembered the voice from the one she'd heard in CeCe's apartment as she'd begun to fall asleep. Could it really be God?

She kept listening, but the voice did not return.

Once the music stopped and Reverend Anne got back to her feet, Sabine thought the service was over, and CeCe apparently did too, shifting to get up when the pastor announced that it was now time for something called Talk Back.

Both girls were confused, but this part of the service turned out to be when others could either expand on or even argue on different things that have been said in the sermon. Hands went up as if in class, Reverend Anne calling on each, either responding or calling on another who wished to give his or her own response to the question or argument.

A man stood as he said, "I'm sorry, but it'd just be too easy for someone to abuse the Pending System. Instead of a customer paying ahead for the cup of coffee or the soup, I think it would be better for either the café or delioffer a day's work in exchange for the food or drink?"

"But then could an employer then not be able to abuse the homeless?" another man rebutted when called upon.

Liam was able to stand and input, "No matter _what_ is done, there would always be room for abuse from _someone_. It is up to all of us to choose to do right. You won't be able to control someone else's choice."

It was very interesting and alien to hear different people around Sabine bringing up ideas on the sermon, even if they were in disagreement. Usually, everyone just agreed what the priest said, or, if they didn't, it was only thought, never said.

It looked as if CeCe were shocked as well, and, ever so slowly, she began to smile.

**xxx**

From the two different clothing stores, Sabine had found three nice pairs of jeans, all on sale. She and CeCe now looked through shoes, Sabine spotting those gold slingbacks she liked.

"Ooh," giggled CeCe upon catching her friend's sparkling eyes, "If you've never worn heels, I suggest making that an _end_ goal." She picked up the model shoe. "Even I would need a week or so to break these bad girls in so I could walk around without snapping an ankle." She set it back down. "Let's go look at kitten heels. They're usually two inches at the longest, so they're great for tall chicks. A lot of them are really cute too, and they won't kill your feet after a night out like these."

She motioned towards the slingbacks as well as nearby stilettos and pumps.

"You are the guru," chuckled Sabine, following CeCe. She had curled her hair this morning, the ringlets bouncing as she walked.

As it turned out, Sabine wore a size ten, and it was hard to find cute shoes that were larger than a nine. Finally, though, Sabine saw a pair of black suede ankle boots. While she still preferred sparkles and clothes that popped, these were nice for a starter. It wasn't like she was expecting to explode through the door wearing a sequin-lined skirt, a sparkly halter top, and boots with spiked heels.

She couldn't anyway. Not right now. She could put on something like that. She thought that she might want to, but she'd never leave even the closet. Not when she was still hairy, still had a very male physique. She wouldn't want others seeing her in such an outfit; she wouldn't even be able to look in a mirror.

Trying to push down such feelings, Sabine followed CeCe to a place in the back of the store, away from other people. She'd been able to get away with having CeCe bring her the jeans to a boy's dressing room, but there wasn't such security trying shoes.

"Here," said CeCe, tossing over a nylon used for trying on shoes. "You're not trying on bowling shoes."

"I have on so—"

"Engh!" buzzed CeCe, index finger coming up in a way a disciplining teacher might as her other hand went to her cocked hip. "I did _not_ just about hear you say you were gonna wear socks with _those_. Those are boots, not sneakers."

"Fine, fine," laughed Sabine, quickly sliding off her right shoe, placing the black sock inside before working on the nylon, which barely reached her ankle. She then slid on the boot, though it didn't fit quite right. She handed the box over, shaking her head.

"Dammit," CeCe muttered. "Okay, go up half a size, or you need 'em wider?"

"Wider."

"Got it." CeCe put the box up, having to search a bit before finding what Sabine needed. "Here we go! Hurry. I think I hear someone, and if they just overheard me, they probably think we're robbing the store."

Sabine laughed as CeCe smiled, having to get the cardboard and tissue paper out of the new boot before trying it on. Looking up, she saw a brunette head, but it looked like they were too busy looking through the sling-backs and pumps. Suddenly, Sabine was very pleased with the hypnotizing effect shoes seemed to have on most women.

"Perfect," she whispered after quickly taking off the boot and putting back on her sock and sneaker.

"Awesome." CeCe took the boots, sticking them under one arm as Sabine took the shopping bags.

At the front, Sabine had already given CeCe the cash needed to buy the boots.

"Did you find everything you needed?" asked the cashier, smiling wide.

"Yes, I did," replied CeCe as Sabine stood a foot or two behind her.

Taking the security tag off one of the boots, the cashier gushed, "Oh, I wish my boyfriend was willing to come shopping with me."

This time, CeCe didn't bother trying to correct the cashier, seeing as at the last store, when the redhead had said Sabine was just a friend, the cashier had gotten that "Oh, he's gay" look before remembering to smile again while a guy passing by with his girlfriend clasped Sabine on the shoulder.

"Might want to find a new girl before you're friendzoned for life," he'd advised with a laugh, earning a backhand in the chest from his girlfriend.

At least this cashier didn't ask why the shoes were a size ten wide when CeCe obviously had much smaller feet than that. Maybe she assumed it was for her mother or something.

Once checking out of the shoe store, Sabine and CeCe headed for the escalator, the blonde inquiring, "So, how'd you like de sermon?"

They had come to the mall straight after service. While CeCe had agreed to attend that, she hadn't really wanted to sit through the small groups afterwards, so they had parted with Bekka and Liam.

"Pretty cool," responded CeCe after a while. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it was so different than my old church, since it's Universalist, not Christian, but… I guess 'church' just tends to bring up images in my head I don't like."

Sabine nodded, understanding. She'd heard some at school who would bad-mouth church—not Christianity, just church as an institution.

In a broad sense they often claimed, "Where Jesus would forgive, the church would condemn; where Jesus would give, the church would hold up its nose and ignore; where Jesus would show joy at dining with them, the church would ostracize."

Did CeCe agree?

"I really liked that 'Talk Back' thing, though," said the redhead as they reached the top, making sure to step off at the right time.

Soft Touch was on the other end of the floor, between Yankee Candle and Goddess, a day spa.

Smiling, Sabine agreed, "Yes, eet vas very different from my church, but in a good way."

"Yeah, one of my pet peeves with church was all the sheeple. It was really cool seeing people actually encouraged to ask questions like that in a religious-ie setting. To add stuff or even disagree. To _think_." CeCe seemed to notice just how much venom had slipped into her voice, and as they passed Spencer's, she cleared her throat, calming down. "Like, I know there'll always be people that'll just nod along, but it's good to see when authority-type figures allow for the questioning of what they say. I've gotten in trouble lots of times because I hate the response 'Because I said so'."

She laughed, Sabine joining. She agreed with those points, and while she wasn't sure if she'd like going to a UU church every Sunday, it had been nice. Maybe it was having been told there was only one Way, Truth, and Light, but it was hard for Sabine to conceive a place where all different paths of belief were seen as equal and valid.

She did agree with being able to question what has been proclaimed by an authority figure, being able to look further for more information and think about all the different possibilities and think critically. Challenge thoughts and beliefs and keep too many people from following someone blindly.

Who Sabine was, it challenged what people believed about gender.

Just as homosexuals challenged the belief of human nature.

Just as feminism had challenged the belief on gender roles.

Just as the civil rights movement had challenged beliefs about race.

It seemed like no matter what, certain opinions would be made that the public would adopt, and those that challenged said opinions would become marginalized—simply for being who they were or speaking the truth.

Sabine would have to be ready for that, but when she and CeCe reached Yankee Candle, she stopped, only stepping aside for three chatting girls heading into the store.

Turning, the bag holding the box of shoes hit CeCe's leg. "You okay?"

"Um…" Sabine took a breath.

She could do this. She could take the steps to becoming who she knew she is, had always been inside. She could very easily say "Screw it" and just give up. Stay as a boy. But that would only be for everyone else, and this was _her_ life. She was the only one who would be stuck with herself for the entirety of that life. If she refused to let herself be happy, then just what would this life be really worth?

Standing up straighter, Sabine smiled and joined CeCe again. "Yes, I'm alright. Now, let's finish our shopping."

As if she'd heard that battle waging within her friend's head and had seen her overcome it, CeCe beamed, linking one arm with Sabine's. "You got it."


	32. Videos

**Chapter 32: Videos**

"_Who is more humble? The scientist who looks at the universe with an open mind and accepts whatever the universe has to teach us, or somebody who says everything in this book must be considered the literal truth and never mind the fallibility of all the human beings involved?" - Carl Sagan_

So far, Marcie and Curtis had not been disturbed when Rocky would move her bed towards the center of her room. She often only did it at night, when she felt stressed, beginning to slip back into depression, to talk about something she had read or heard, or just when some thought came to her that she wanted to talk about.

Tacked onto the wall where her headboard would usually be was a poster of a lit taper, the words at the bottom reading, **SCIENCE: THE LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS**. Rocky used it as her background for the videos, none of which have been uploaded as of yet. She always hesitated, though tonight would make the video count six. She had started talking about her deconversion, but it was such a long tale, so she had to do it in parts.

"I was… _so_ lost," Rocky whispered to the camera, dark brown eyes on the carpet. She had to close her stinging eyes and take a shaky breath as she tried to regain composure. "I felt broken." Her eyes returned to the camera, her face, clean of any make-up, clear on her laptop's screen. "If this was truth, then I wanted my lies back. They had given me hope. They had _promised_ me hope. They had promised me eternal life if I just kept having faith, if I followed the Word of God…." She shook her head. "Now all this new information is just pouring in. All of these doubts, these thoughts and ideas I just wanted to expel so I could rush back to my lies and wrap myself in them like a safety blanket. I tried reading articles on Intelligent Design, people talking about how the evolution scientists are actively trying to stop… How do I word this…? Um, I guess they're trying to say evolution scientists are trying to stop the progress of research on Intelligent Design.

"At first, that gave me hope, but I kept finding places to poke holes. It took weeks, but I ended up going back to the evolution sites and books. It just made so much sense, but I didn't _want_ it to. It was fake. It had to be!" Rocky paused and swallowed audibly. "I tried reconciling this information with my beliefs. There were tons of Christians who believed in evolution, but… when I tried reconciling, I was forced to come to a whole new revelation. One that drove me into such a dark and cold place, I would be dead if not for my friend and brother getting to me before it was too late…"

Rocky kept speaking for almost ten minutes before clicking on the **stop** button, ending part two of her deconversion series. It was almost midnight now, but Rocky wasn't sure if she could sleep, school tomorrow or no.

Staring at the file, Rocky brought the arrow over the one from Monday night, when she went to visit CeCe and try talking to her. Rocky had made the video that night after having her hot cocoa and pie, unsure as to whether the sugar or her nerves had been keeping her from sleeping until almost two AM.

Double-clicking on the video, Rocky sat back against her poster and dragged over her magenta throw blanket to huddle in as she leaned against her poster.

"I actually, _finally_, talked to her tonight," said Rocky in the video, eyes winged by liner and lips glossed just for the occasion. "My friend Rose"—wanting as few people to recognize her as possible when she did post the videos online, Rocky referred to CeCe by her middle name—"invited me into her apartment. I'd gone there to talk to her about what had happened at this party."

In the video, Rocky rolled in her lips, eyes going to the floor before they met the camera again.

"We'd both been drunk, and, long story short, she kissed me." Another pause, this time with an audible swallow, eyes going off to the side in memory. "And… I kissed her back. Maybe I like her, maybe I don't… I… I think I do? I don't know. In romance movies, there always seemed to be some sort of _click_ where you just know they belong together. Here though… If I have to think about it so much, then do I really like her? Or do I just miss her and the kiss thing has me confused on just how I'm feeling?"

The sigh was heavy, and as Rocky watched, she sighed as well.

"Anyway," said video-Rocky, "I finally decided we needed to start talking again, if only to talk about what had happened at that party. So I went to her apartment after school. I went up and down the stairs from my place to hers probably twenty times, and when I was about to go back up to my place for good, she arrived."

In the video, Rocky moved some of her hair away from her face. "God, I probably looked like a scared rabbit or something. Pretty much felt like one. My heart was pounding, and I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to get any words out, but we went inside and talked while sipping cider." Rocky paused, nose wrinkling.

"Great, now I have that song stuck in my head," she chuckled half-heartedly. "Rose is a lot more patient than she used to be. I expected to be chewed out for basically—no, not basically, _entirely_ dumping her and barely offering even one word to her and our other friends for the past couple years. _Years_!" Blinking quickly to keep tears from coming, video-Rocky rolled her lips inward again for a while. "She just sat there and listened, though. I've already mentioned in a past video that she'd been there when I attempted suicide."

Still, the memory of that afternoon and all of the agonizing emotions and thoughts leading up to it pained Rocky, and she had to pause the video, the her on the screen looking equally pained. The girl sat up and pulled the blanket around her more tightly, crossing her legs in a lotus position. She had been trying some simple yoga exercises she'd gotten off Pinterest and Tumblr when needing to calm herself. It'd been helping, but Rocky needed more to lift her back up. Friends. Community.

She couldn't sift through all of these emotions and pull herself out of those cold, dark waters by herself.

Once centered, Rocky clicked on **play**.

"I'm sorry." The girl shook her head for a moment, having to brush back her hair again. "Rose had been my best friend since we were five. We always said we weren't best friends—we were sisters. I couldn't imagine actually liking her in a romantic way, but, as I said, I was so confused. I still am, but even if I _do_ like her, I'm not sure if I'd be able to bring myself to pursue that sort of relationship. Not with her. Not when, at least right now, I just want to fix our friendship. And especially when I suspect she might like someone else."

Was Rocky jealous? She didn't feel any sort of animosity towards Sabine, but it was often the feelings of guilt that took over anyway.

She didn't think she was jealous, though, so did that mean that she didn't really like CeCe in that way? If she did, she'd feel some form of envy towards Sabine, wouldn't she?

"I want to continue our discussion tomorrow morning. We're planning to walk to school together. We mostly talked about how I'd been feeling ever since I started doubting my faith, slowly slipping further and further away from what I had always known and had always upheld as Absolute Truth. She still holds a lot of animosity towards religious institutions, finding them abusive. I kind of agree, I guess, but maybe it's the memory of the joy I used to have, I don't know, but I can't forget the good it can do either. Everything's got its good and bad, I guess, and there are different periods in time and different regions and perspectives where it'll lean more towards one way than the other."

A smile. "I just keep going off on tangents, don't I? At least it wasn't as long a one as in my first video." A small laugh that actually reached her eyes, even if only a spark. "I guess, mostly, we were just getting to know each other again. It was awkward at first, but it was really nice overall." The smile grew. "I'd like for us to be friends again. I should probably reach out to my other friends too, if only to say that I'm sorry for freezing them out. Anyway, this video is getting pretty long now. I hadn't meant for it to exceed five minutes." She giggled. "I'll sign off now, and maybe Rose will be in a video with me in the future. Who knows, right? Don't stop asking questions, and always be awesome. I'll be trying to take that last piece of advice from now on myself. 'Bye!"

The video over, Rocky took a deep breath that turned into a yawn halfway. Looked like she might be able to get to sleep before her alarm clock rang after all.

However, Rocky really wanted to begin posting, so she double-clicked on her first video, which she'd done in her grandmother's attic this past Christmas Eve.

"Hopefully all of you are having a better Christmas—or day, whatever—than I am," said video-Rocky, eyes tired and hair almost looking like a scarf. She wore a white pullover with the hood casting a thin shadow over her face. "It's freezing, and since Nana lives in this old-fashioned home that she never bothered renovating to get central heat, the only really warm place right now is the living room, where everyone else is at the moment, sitting around the wood stove. Yes, you heard me correctly.

"I'm currently in the attic, so it's not _as_ cold as it could be, and the wood stove does do better to spread heat than I usually expect—I am a city girl at heart, I guess." A short half-hearted giggle. "Unfortunately, that's not the only thing bugging me, and sorry if I sound like a total Scrooge, which would actually fit, seeing as Granddad just got done reading _A Christmas Carol_.

"Anyway, I should probably get to it: See, I'm a closeted atheist—I classify myself as a skeptic, really, but I just need to face it, I'm an agnostic atheist. Pretty much everyone else in my family, though, is Christian. _Very_ Christian. Actually, the only reason I was able to get away was because I told Nana I wanted some quiet time in prayer alone before we all went to the midnight service at hers and Granddad's church. And by 'we', I mean, Nana, Granddad, my parents, my brother, two of my aunts and two uncles, and eight cousins along with myself. Oh, and a partridge in a pear tree."

Sitting back against her wall, Rocky snorted a laugh at the joke. She'd always had a large family. Nana Carter had given birth to four girls and two boys, Marcie the third-youngest. Nana had always been the most reserved and conservative person Rocky had ever known, often getting onto Marcie for only having had two children and having a job when she should be at home—a _real_ home, not an apartment.

Rocky had never been close to her maternal grandmother, but she had at least respected her. Not so much anymore. Not anymore than she would respect any other elder.

"Anyway, I think I'm just about to reach my limit in how much I can stand hearing 'God this' and 'Jesus that'. Please, no one make the erroneous assumption that I'm 'mad at God' or something. I can't be mad at something I don't believe exists." A long pause, then a heavy sigh. "I… don't think I've ever admitted that out loud until now. See, I've grown up in a heavy Christian environment, and my mom swears up and down that my first words were 'God bless'. I used to absolutely _love_ going to church, Sunday school, youth group, bible camp…, but so much has changed since then.

"It's been a long, agonizing journey. Yeah, it was truly agonizing. Everything I had felt to be true suddenly showed themselves as tall tales. Lies, I'll go ahead and venture to say—_Oh good God_!"

In the video, Rocky looked like she'd just been given a heart attack, Nana's cat having suddenly jumped into her lap.

"Dammit," breathed the girl as she began to scratch the animal behind one of his ears, other hand over her heart, "now I know why so many owners put little bells on their cats' collars." She took some deep breaths as she began to stroke the purring cat's orange-splotched white fur. "This is Blessing, by the way. I'm not joking, that's really his name. I prefer Demon Cat, and not just because I'm more of a dog person.

"Anyway, I'll go more into how I went from God-fearing Christian to agnostic atheist in a video series I'll maybe start next month. Like I said, though, it was a really painful journey for me at the beginning, and all that pain and Christian guilt led me to attempting suicide. Lucky for me… I still had my phone in my pocket…" Rocky swallowed, Blessing rubbing his head against her stomach and chest. "So I called my best friend, Rose, and she came up with my brother, who stanched the… flow of… blood and got me to the nearby free clinic." She coughed, looking ready to cry. "While"—another swallow—"Rose cleaned up so my parents wouldn't find out. I… I got stitches, and it was winter at the time, so I could hide them easily." Her mouth twitched, eyes on the cat.

"They still don't know," she whispered. "The scar's thin enough that you can't even see it unless you look closely."

Slowly, Rocky's eyes rose back up towards the camera. "Remembering that and hearing how joyous it's supposed to be that Jesus was born this day to one day die for our sins makes this day hard for me. I don't want to be angry or depressed about this. Who does? But sometimes all I want to shout is 'There is _no_ good evidence that Jesus was even real and I never asked for him to die for me anyway!'"

Even when shouting, Rocky kept her voice low, eyes going to where the staircase leading down to the laundry room was as if expecting someone to come up and discover her secret.

Rubbing her eyes as she watched the video, Rocky only needed to do a bit of editing, mostly where there had been long pauses. Rocky had always been a good speaker, voice often clear when there wasn't such a tirade of dark emotions. Still, she, for the most part, came off well in the videos in her opinion, if generally grey in attitude. It got better as she went on, though, the videos really helping her spirits rise.

Once the editing was done, Rocky named the video "An Atheist in a Christian World" and finally uploaded the video onto the channel she'd made online, throwing her blanket onto her bed before placing her laptop onto her desk. The video had fully uploaded once she'd pushed her bed back into place, and Rocky smiled before shutting her laptop and going to bed.

_I'll need the rest for tomorrow,_ she thought, thinking of that promise she'd made to CeCe and to herself on Friday. _Gay-Alliance Club meets tomorrow afternoon._


	33. First Session

**Chapter 33: First Session**

"_Everything becomes a little different as soon as it is spoken out loud." - Hermann Hesse_

It was not until Sabine had reached the waiting room that all of the apprehension hit her at once, eyes occasionally going to Apa, who had brought his laptop with him. Anya was home with Baba, and Tinka had brought her needlepoint with her.

"You'll be fine," Tinka whispered, offering a smile when Sabine's surname was called.

Getting up, Sabine smiled at her sister and nodded at Apa, whose face was unreadable.

The walls of the office were creamy yellow, the décor making it look warm and inviting, almost like someone's living room.

"Ah, Gunther Hessenheffer," said the therapist in greeting, getting up to her feet, those kitten heels making her only a few inches shorter than Sabine. "It's very good to meet you." She held out a hand, which the girl took after closing the door behind her and heading over towards the chairs.

After sitting down in a burgundy leather club chair, Sabine shyly informed, "I actually prefer Sabine." Her voice was low, flickering from the soft carpet to the dark-skinned woman and back.

Sitting down in her own plush chair with crossed ankles, Dr. Reeves smiled. "Sabine," she said as if tasting it. "That's a beautiful name."

The smile felt more natural now. "Thank you."

As Sabine shifted in her seat, Dr. Reeves ran a hand down the lock of raven hair left to hang down by her heart-shaped face. "Is there anything specific you would like to speak about?"

Voice clear and soft, the therapist also spoke with her hands somewhat, though not in a necessarily distracting way.

Wringing her hands in her lap, Sabine murmured, "Um… I… I don't really know much of what to talk about…"

Dark eyes soft, Dr. Reeves suggested, "Tell me about how long you have felt the way that you do. This will help me get a good look at what may be best, and I believe it could help you as well."

Taking a shaky breath, Sabine nodded but then thought of something. "Everyting said in here… You vill not tell my parents?"

Shaking her head slowly, Dr. Reeves responded, "Unless there is information that poses some sort of danger to yourself, you are my obligation, which includes confidentiality. Everything you say is safe within these walls."

Nodding, Sabine started to feel much better. She loved her parents, but there was much she still did not want them to know—that love was _why_ she didn't want them to know, or, that was what she told herself.

"I don't think I remember ever _not_ feeling dis vay," Sabine whispered. She then cleared her throat and spoke with a little more volume: "I remember having reoccurring dreams of either being a girl and sometimes an angel apologizing to me before turning me into one."

Hands still wringing and eyes on the floor, Sabine took another deep breath before continuing: "Tinka, my twin sister, and I fought a lot up until we were about four. I do not remember dem all, but I remember that I vas the one that usually started them."

"Why is that?" There was nothing accusatory in the therapist's low-pitched voice, which Sabine liked.

"I guess I vas jealous," she replied, almost shamefully.

"That is a completely natural emotion, especially among siblings," Dr. Reeves assured.

"I know, but I did not like being mad. It was nothing she could help."

"It sounds like it was nothing you could help either."

Hands on her knees, Sabine's gaze flickered up to the therapist only for a moment before returning to the carpet. "All I could think was that she had it so easy, being a girl. Having a body that matched her mind when mine just didn't feel right. When we were four or five, though, she stopped fighting back and would only be nice to me, even when I screamed at her. So I felt guilty. Stopped screaming. Dere were times I still felt angry, but I would keep it to myself."

"Was there anything you did to help you through those feelings?"

"I drew," answered Sabine after a nod. "I liked to draw and color. I had a big _Care Bears___coloring book Anya—um, my mother—gave me when I kept begging. I would either color in that or draw pictures."

"Of what?"

"A lot of my pictures were of me, crying, one side looking like a boy and the other girly. I ripped a lot of those up later so my parents would not see." Another few deep breaths, eyes stinging even when Sabine told herself that there was no reason for tears. "I also liked to draw mermaids. Eet wasn't until I vas maybe nine or ten I started drawing more tings, mostly what I see around the house so I could draw better. I tink I remember trying to draw fruit, though." Sabine gave a small laugh. "I remembered seeing on TV a lot that artists would draw or paint bowls of fruit."

Dr. Reeves's eyes sparkled as her smile grew. "So art is a large part of your life?"

"Yes." Sabine's eyes still stung with tears she kept trying to hold in, but her mouth curved into a small smile. "Painting especially, even if I am not very good yet." As much as people praised her work, all she ever saw was where to improve. "I want to learn how to vurk with oils, but I have alvays loved dancing even more."

"When did you start dancing?"

"About five…? Yes, five. Tinka and I were in kindergarten—vell, we had tutors at the time. Tinka did not want to dance at first, but it was mainly a ballet class, so she asked our parents so I would not have to. We had recently gotten into trouble with our mother."

"Trouble?" inquired the older woman when Sabine hesitated.

"Um…" Her voice was soft again, and she took a breath and sat up a little straighter, telling herself that it was okay to open up—it was best. "Tinka and I were fighting again, but this time about playing House. I alvays wanted to be the mother, but Tinka wanted to be the mother dis time.

"Finally, ve went to our parent's room and got into our mother's make-up and clothes, playing dress-up. Our mother hadn't liked it and got very mad. She kept it from Father, like she did with my coloring book and when I cried at the store, wanting to get a one-piece swimsuit that was pink with sparkles or a tutu. I actually tried to wear Tinka's tutu to our first dance lesson and got yelled at before forced into tights. Tinka had told our parents that she wanted me at dance with her, so Apa—um, my father—asked me if I wanted to. I told him eef Tinka wanted, I would go."

"You and your sister decided she would ask them, so does that mean you thought they might have suspected something?"

Nodding, Sabine replied, "I'm sure at least Anya had to. Maybe Apa at some times. Or maybe they just thought it was because I spent a lot of time with Tinka, I do not know. When they decided to put Tinka and me into public school, I sometimes tink it was because dey wanted me to find male friends."

"Yes, I've known many parents who chose public school to help with their children's social skills."

"I guess eet helped some, but I mostly clinged to Tinka, and she started to get mean towards people who would get close to us. I would just follow her lead." Sabine began wringing her hands again. "Eet soon became second nature to be mean, and it… It kept people avay. So dey might not find out."

Dr. Reeves asked, "What was it you did not want anyone to find out?"

There was a spark inside Sabine, nails digging into her knuckles. Was it not obvious? Was it not why she was here?!

As Sabine closed her eyes and tried to calm herself, the therapist waited patiently.

Finally, the girl replied, "Dat I was different. I felt alone in how I felt. Eet was not until a few years ago I even knew that there were others that felt the same." She took a breath, longer and deeper than the others. "I had nothing to call it. Everyone keeps saying you shouldn't label yourself, but after finally knowing that there was a word for how I have been feeling all my life…"

Sabine shook her head slowly, still not knowing how to describe it. Saying that it lifted off a huge weight did not sound right or enough. Yet also not enough.

Seeming to understand, Dr. Reeves said, "While labels can be seem limiting, they can also offer a sense of community."

"That sounds about right," whispered Sabine with a nod. "When I came back to Chicago, I also finally got friends outside of Tinka. I've stopped being so mean, and… they actually accept me." The smile returned.

"Came back? Where had you gone?"

The smile fell again, and Sabine shifted in the chair. "Tinka vas the first to tell me what a transgender person was, showing me the sites she found. Eet fit so well, and after thinking it over during our trip to Japan with two other dancers from the show we'd been on at the time, I finally agreed to tell Apa and Anya. Tinka was dere with me when I told them, and I wanted help. Therapy, or something. I was still very scared and felt very guilty and ashamed. I still do many times, but I try to remind myself that I shouldn't feel that way."

Dr. Reeves nodded. "That's right, and you are here now, so that I can help with what you need. I want you to know that everything you feel and have felt is perfectly normal, and you should not have to feel ashamed of any of it."

The corners of Sabine's mouth inched upwards. Even though she had been saying those words to herself, it felt wonderful hearing them from someone else. "Thank you. Anyvay, Apa and Anya did not react well to what I said, and de 'help' Apa decided to give was more and more time at church and at the altar and then to send me to Isidor Batchi's—um, my uncle Isidor's farm. Eet is back in our home country, and I was there until the beginning of January, just in time for school starting up after Christmas break."

"What was it like for you on the farm?"

"Isidor Batchi is a strict man, even more than Apa." Sabine nearly shivered, almost feeling the cold that would seep through her yak-fur coat. "I usually took care of de goats, but I also worked in the wheat and the barley fields. To anyone here, eet would look like the middle of nowhere. Eef I wanted to e-mail Tinka, I had to go to the nearest town and go to de internet café. I tink I went there maybe once a week or every other week, if my chores were done. I would go with some of my cousins."

"Did you get along with them?"

"Ol'ga and Adelaida were kindest," replied Sabine. "Domonkos was nice as well. He still teased like most of the others, but not as much."

"Did your uncle ever do anything about the teasing?"

Sabine shook her head. Even still, the words hurt. "He said it built character. Dat it would harden me up, make me a man."

The corners of the woman's mouth dipped downward, but she let Sabine continue:

"Apa did not tell Isidor Batchi what was 'wrong' with me, only that I needed more time with family back home to learn to work and to grow closer to God."

"You've mentioned church before. Is religion a large part of your life?"

The girl's mouth opened, then closed, and, finally, she shrugged. "I guess." She looked up. "But I thought religion could not be talked about."

Smiling softly, Dr. Reeves informed, "I am not allowed to try and push any kind of spiritual path onto you, but spirituality should not be completely ignored if it is part of your life. However, if you wish not to speak of it right now, or even at all, then that is completely up to you."

Thinking this over, Sabine gave a nod. "Maybe not now."

"Alright." Dr. Reeves showed her pearly teeth as she smiled. "Now, I apologize, but there are fifteen minutes left of your session. What would you like to talk about?"

"Um…"

After a few moments, the therapist offered a few suggestions: "More about your uncle's farm, maybe? School or friends?"

Teeth pressing on her bottom lip for a moment, Sabine gave a nod. "On my first day of school dis semester, I heard two people fighting and vent to investigate. I recognized the girl, CeCe. I'd known her since dancing class when I vas five…"


	34. Squish

**Chapter 34: Squish**

"_A true friend reaches for your hand and touches your heart." - attributed to Heather Pryor_

It was nice walking home with Rocky like she used to, but CeCe still waited for the subject to come up. Her patience was wearing thin, but she didn't want to be the first to bring it up. Sure, she'd been trying to talk about it to Rocky for a long time, but now that it finally looked like they might actually lay everything down… CeCe felt her heart speed up whenever she thought about it.

What would she say?

What would _Rocky_ say?

Hands stuffed into her pockets and book bag making her shoulder ache, CeCe looked over at Rocky, who looked to be in deep thought.

"So what'd you think of the meeting?" the redhead ventured as the wind, harsher today, threatened to tear apart her curls.

Pulling down her black beret and covering the tops of her ears, Rocky waited a moment before finally responding, "It was nice. Everyone seemed really supportive of one-another."

Today's meeting had mainly been about Prom. The topic had first been brought up a couple of weeks ago, one of the club members wanting to bring his boyfriend, who attended a different school, with him. Last year, CeCe had ended up needing to contact the American Civil Liberties Union before the principal had finally allowed the students planning on bringing same-sex partners to Prom their right to do so.

CeCe was sure such a length would not need to be taken this year, but the principal would still need to be contacted to make sure no one would be turned away and that necessary security would be in place—CeCe prayed that these precautions would not be needed a few years from now.

"Yeah," said CeCe with a smile, "I wanted it to be a good place to be yourself. It almost surprised me how many GLB kids were at our school before I first set up the club, though."

Rocky gave a nod. "But not everyone in the club is…?"

Chuckling, CeCe shook her head, the two reaching the building.

"Thanks," the redhead said when her friend opened the door and motioned for her to enter first. "Nah, it wouldn't be much of a Gay-_Straight_ Alliance Club without a few heteros to balance things out."

Smiling, Rocky was silent again, and CeCe's smile became strained.

Was it going to be brought up now?

"I'd never really given much thought about my sexuality," said Rocky, keeping her voice low and eyes forward as they headed up the stairs. "It had just never seemed like something important to think about."

"You liked pointing out cute boys," CeCe replied in a sing-song tone, getting bumped in the side by her friend's hip.

"You always noticed them first," she pointed out. "For the most part, I just went along with it. Even though I did think most of them were cute or hot, I really didn't think further than that, really."

"Not even with Harrison?"

"He was an equal intellectually, which I liked, and if we didn't live so far apart, I think something might have been possible..."

Watching Rocky out of the corner of her eye, CeCe urged, "_But_…?"

"He already had a girlfriend," sighed Rocky. "They were 'on a break' when he was here during your party that year, but he still didn't go any farther than giving me his e-mail address and Twitter name. Even though he and Juliana, his girlfriend, were technically not really tied at the time, he said he still had feelings for her and apologized in case he seemed like he was leading me on at all."

The two reached the third floor, CeCe getting her key out of her messenger bag. "You two still talk?"

"Once in a while." She smiled at CeCe, who motioned for her to enter the apartment first. "He got early admission into Brandeis University, which makes me think of how I could be getting early admission into Yale or Brown or something."

Placing her coat onto the hanger by the door, Rocky exhaled sharply. She'd gotten acceptance letters to many universities, though she was still worried about tuition, books, living expenses… Just because Harvard was willing to welcome her into its gates, didn't mean she would be able to afford it.

"You're going places, we've all known that since you corrected Mrs. Joyner about velocity and momentum," CeCe assured, heading over to the kitchen to make hot chocolate.

Sitting at the bar, Rocky chuckled. "Just because it was third grade, didn't mean she should instantly think our minds were incapable of grasping as concept such as—"

Whirling around, CeCe pointed at her friend with the wooden spoon she'd just gotten out of the drawer. "School's over for the day, 's time for the brain to rest."

"I guess some things never change."

"Just because I'm in honors history and English, doesn't mean I actually study any of that stuff for 'fun'. Okay, be back in a few. I gotta let Jake out before he makes a mess in Flynn's room again."

Grabbing the leash from the coat rack, CeCe rushed into Flynn's room, where Jake waited near the door, jumping to his feet as she approached him. She hooked the leash to his collar and led him down the stairs, not bothering to get her coat. The pug wouldn't be mean enough to make her stand in the cold for too long as he sniffed for a spot to do his business, right?

Apparently, he was.

"God dammit, puppy!" she hissed, shivering fiercely as Jake seemed to circle the same tree he did his business at every day nearly five times before finally emptying his bladder. "Thank you, Lord!"

Having a dog had lost its appeal after about a month, but Flynn loved the little guy, and CeCe had to admit that he'd grown on her. Still, she didn't like having to walk him down three flights of stairs, always fearful he might end up relieving himself in a hallway or on the staircase instead.

Heading back up, CeCe slowly began to stop shivering, Jake looking perfectly happy now as he trotted along next to her. He didn't have to worry about stress, only about food, water, and whether the idiot redhead was going to remember to take him out to pee or not. He didn't have to worry about school or having to contact ACLU. He didn't have to worry about whether a close friend could end up getting kicked out of her home or whether another close friend could hold feelings that would go unrequited.

_I don't want to have to worry about this stuff,_ thought CeCe as she sighed, slumping when she reached her floor.

Whining, Jake pawed at her leg, and CeCe allowed a smile before finally straightening herself and deciding to face whatever came her way head-on. That was how she'd always done it, and it had worked thus far. Obviously she had to be doing _something_ right, yeah?

Inside the apartment, CeCe put Jake back into Flynn's room, giving him a rawhide bone to keep himself occupied. She then washed her hands before getting out a pot and the almond milk, Rocky sitting up straight as she nibbled on an oatmeal-and-raisin cookie, looking excited to be able to have some of CeCe's special hot chocolate again.

"Anyway, you been thinking about sexuality lately?" asked the redhead after turning on the stove.

Almost immediately, CeCe wanted to take the words back, but she just went ahead and kept pouring almond milk into the pot before putting the carton back into the refrigerator and getting out the baking chocolate, cinnamon sticks, powdered sugar, and brown sugar.

However, the subject needed to be gotten over with, so she let it hang in the air. CeCe did not see any romantic relationship being possible between them, so if Rocky harbored such feelings, then their newly-renewed friendship would likely end up failing. That knowledge hurt, but it probably would have ended up hurting much more if they didn't talk about this at all until much longer down the road, Rocky hurt that that all this time her feelings were unrequited and CeCe guilty for letting her think there could have been a chance for them to have that sort of relationship.

Rocky sighed again. "Some, but not much."

Getting out the double-boiler after dumping a couple of cinnamon sticks into the almond milk, CeCe asked, "Still spending more time thinking about all that religion stuff?"

"Yeah, I've been studying that a lot and talking about it with Collins and Len."

"Len goes to your church, right? He cute?"

"Stop," ordered Rocky, trying to sound annoyed (her smile ruined it). "But yeah, he does. He's converted to Wicca, though."

"That witchy religion? And I bet his parents aren't too happy about that."

"They don't know," laughed Rocky. "He's still playing Christian, so we have that in common."

"Still want to tell Mr. and Mrs. Blue you're not Christian anymore after graduation?"

"Yeah." Rocky traced circles on the bar with her index finger, starting on a second cookie. "They'd probably be more willing to accept me being pregnant or something."

"Well, you're too old to be on MTV now," CeCe jested, adding brown sugar to the pot.

"God I'm glad they cancelled that show." Rocky shook her head, her voice a mix of a scoff and laugh. "My grandma would say how sorry she was for all those girls and how their parents should have introduced them to God so they'd know better or whatever, but then when I told her I _never_ wanted to get pregnant, she yelled at me for going against God's plan for women."

"Bi-polar much?" CeCe looked back at Rocky, eyebrows raised.

"Just years of brainwashing in my opinion." Rocky shook her head. "I'm just glad neither of my parents believe the 'women are to be submissive wives and baby-factories' crap."

"Wow," CeCe mouthed, pouring the now-melted baking chocolate into the almond milk. After mixing it, she took a taste, face scrunching up, so she added more sugar. "Can't imagine what she'd say if you'd said you never wanted to get _married_. Or that you were going to attend a feminist gathering-meeting-thing-whatever."

"She scolds my mom just for working at her salons, even though it's only four days out of the week. I wouldn't go that far even if I was mad at her." Straightening up for a moment in thought, Rocky's mouth twitched in a smirk. "Although, I've _always_ wanted to see how she'd react if I told her I was gay."

CeCe gave a bark of laughter. "You secretly want to kill that woman, don't you?" She got two multi-colored mugs and poured the hot chocolate into them, sprinkling powdered sugar over the top.

"_Shh_! The Big Man Upstairs might be listening in and warn her!" Rocky giggled and took one of the mugs. "Thanks, and I wouldn't do that anyway. I'm not going to say I'm gay when I'm not."

"But if you were gay," sang CeCe as she took the other stool.

"Gah!"

"That would be o-kay! I mean 'cause hey! I like you an-y-way!"

"Oh God, please don't." Rocky sipped at her hot chocolate. CeCe used to make it overly-sweet, but it tasted much better this time, probably because of the brown sugar instead of white sugar.

Sniggering, CeCe sipped her hot chocolate but ended up getting some on her jeans. "Oh, shit."

"Serves you right, and I don't think I'll ever get used to you cussing."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," muttered CeCe as she went to get a napkin, grabbing some extras just in case. "'Oh fudge biscuit' and 'Hit me with a Kansas City pickle' just don't have the same ring anymore."

"Just be careful to who you say 'Oh fuck me' around."

Blinking, CeCe watched Rocky for a moment before going back to her hot chocolate. "As weird as you think it is hearing me say 'shit', hearing you say 'fuck' is _ten times_ as weird. Maybe one-hundred times."

One of Rocky's eyebrows went up as she drank her chocolate. After licking her top lip and taking one of the napkins, her eyes turned to the counter. "Did… After…"

She took another long sip of her drink, CeCe waiting patiently, though one of her legs began to bounce, her heart pounding. She had no idea how she was going to react if this conversation took the turn she thought it might, and she had to force herself to keep breathing.

"I don't like you!" Rocky finally blurted, one hand going to her face as CeCe's eyes widened in surprise. "_God_." She took a breath and turned to face her friend. "What I mean is, I kept going back and forth in my head about it. Sometimes I thought I liked you in that way, but then other times… I realized I didn't. Sorry this isn't making any sense, but… I want to be with you and really close to you, but in the way we were before… that party."

As always, CeCe's constant need to liven the mood drove her to ask, "Aww… Rocky, are you squishing on me?"

Brow furrowing, Rocky was to confused for her next word even be phrased as a question: "_What_."

Laughing now, CeCe managed to explain, "'Squish' is a word that's usually used in asexual circles, at least, it was on an asexual forum I heard of it. It's kinda like a crush, but instead of looking to be a couple, it means more of a really close platonic relationship."

Dunking the rest of her cookie into her hot chocolate, Rocky gave a slow nod. "That sounds about right." She exhaled slowly before eating her cookie and taking a sip of chocolate. "Okay, at the risk of sounding dumb, which _really_ switches our usual roles, what the hell is asexual?"

"Atheists don't believe in any god, right? 'Cause it's 'a' meaning 'no' and 'theist' meaning 'belief', yeah?"

Brow furrowing again, Rocky gave a nod.

"Same principle, different word," said CeCe, taking a sip of hot chocolate. "'A' meaning 'not' and 'sexual' meaning… well, you should know what that means. We had the same health teacher."

The two girls shuddered, remembering how the teacher had taken a condom and stretched it over her forearm, telling the girls that if her boyfriend said it was too small, he was lying.

CeCe continued, "There are also demisexuals and grey-A's, who are kinda in the middle, demisexuals a type of grey-A."

"I never thought the day would come where you would be teaching _me_ something," joked Rocky, looking much more relaxed now that the toughest part of their conversation had been thrown out there and pushed to the side, no longer an issue.

They could become close friends again, and that knowledge made CeCe feel very warm inside.

"So what are those?" asked Rocky after finishing her hot chocolate and going to the pot to pour herself more.

"Grey-A is a little trickier for me to explain, since it's basically the 'grey area' between sexuality an asexuality. They might just have a lower sex drive than sexuals, only experience it during certain situations, or they do experience sexual attraction but not near enough to where they'd want to act on it, though some do, just like some asexuals will have sex with a partner, especially if the partner is sexual, but I'm sure there are asexual couples who have engaged in it too, but it's usually rude to ask people about their sex lives, or so I hear."

Standing by the stove, one of Rocky's eyebrows was raised again. "You're not making this any easier to understand, but go ahead and move on to demisexuals."

"They feel sexual attraction, but only with people they've developed a strong bond with someone, though it doesn't necessarily have to be a romantic bond."

"I thought that was how all people are."

"That's probably your church background talking." CeCe went to refill her mug with the last of the hot chocolate in the pot. She also took a cinnamon stick, using it as a stirrer. "Like, I've felt sexual attraction to people without feeling the need to go start a relationship with them. Or like when Dina would look at a guy in a movie and say something like 'Ooh, I wanna jump his bones!' Like, how do you usually feel when you look at someone you think is cute or hot or whatever?"

The shine in Rocky's eyes showed she noticed that CeCe had said "someone" and not "a boy", leaving it completely open if she had ever found females attractive or not. CeCe suspected she did, but she didn't like to assume, even if it seemed pretty obvious. "Seeming" wasn't the same as "being".

"Um…" Rocky took a long sip of her drink, thinking. "I see them as attractive, in an aesthetic way, I guess." She noticed the questioning shine in CeCe's tawny-brown eyes. "Aesthetic basically means to appreciate beauty. Like… um, remember Laila?"

Those chocolate-brown eyes looked away again, and CeCe was sure if Rocky's skin were lighter in shade, it would have flushed bright red.

"Gothic chick from _Shake It Up!_ Yeah, I remember."

Thinking back, the redhead could recall a few times about a year before the Japan trip where Rocky would cast quick glances towards the girl with long, dark hair and lips painted red, making her look like a dark Snow White with her super-pale skin. She had usually stayed by herself when not dancing, reading older-looking books from the library—Shakespeare, Poe, Hawthorne, Brontë…

There had actually been a few times when those pale grey eyes had risen from the yellowed pages to find Rocky, CeCe thinking she could remember having seeing Laila smile and blush a little before going back to her reading. She couldn't remember for sure, and it didn't matter, anyway. She didn't know where she was, and Rocky may not even like her anymore. It was too bad. CeCe still enjoyed playing Matchmaker when she got the chance.

"I thought she was really pretty. Well-read, smart…" Her eyes met CeCe's again, and she blinked. "Please stop making that face."

"But it sounds so sweet!" CeCe gushed. "Anyway, what you talked about sounds pretty much like asexuality, like right on the nose."

Sighing, Rocky said, "I'm not sure if I like thinking of myself that way when in biology—"

"Words get new meanings added to them all the time and sometimes the meanings change completely. So what?" CeCe shrugged.

"Did it hurt when your brain grew three times its size?"

When CeCe glowered, Rocky laughed, the two heading back to the stools when Flynn came in.

"Get Mom's text?" he asked, dropping his backpack and taking off his coat. His hair had been left down today, and his cheeks and nose were still red from outside.

"Um…" CeCe looked over at her messenger bag by the couch. "I must not have turned the ringer on after the club meeting. She working late again?"

"Yeah, so order pizza or something. Hey Rocky." He waved, heading for his room. "And there better not be a puddle in here this time!"

"Stay for dinner?" asked CeCe, looking at the menus attached to the refrigerator doors by magnets. "I can order moo shu tofu."

Grinning, Rocky nodded. "Sounds great. Let me just go call my mom first."

**_As CeCe said, a squish is pretty much like a crush, only the person is seeking a close platonic relationship rather than a romantic one. Squishes can feel just as intense as crushes (a.k.a wanting to be with the person, always feeling very happy being/talking with them, caring deeply for them, etc), so it's easy to see how Rocky could have gotten confused about her feelings, especially when she had never really given too much thought to these types of emotions before. Also, the song CeCe sang a couple lines of was "If You Were Gay" from Avenue Q._**

**_Anyway, I guessed it was beyond time to put up a chapter like this, and sorry you all had to wait so long. If any of you are interested, I have begun posting some of my original short stories, which can be found on my Tumblr. My username is feymagicinmoonlight. :)_**

**_I hope all of you are still enjoying "Soul-Deep", and I hope to be able to post up the next chapter soon. :D_**

**_(One more note: I've never actually tried that recipe CeCe uses; I borrowed a recipe my Girl Scout leader used once but just changed it a bit. I want to try it now, though, and if anyone else chooses to do so, let me know how it turns out! :D)_**


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